


Demon Eyes

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, Gore, PTSD, abuse mention, can someone explain why ao3 deleted all my tags, trauma mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:49:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 84,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: In which Dave goes in to kill a demon for his bro, and things...don't exactly go as planned. Really, absolutely nothing goes as planned, but that's...somehow okay. Mostly.Pleasecheck the tags before you read. List of characters and explanation of talents is in the end notes.art by olivetheowlart by thedoubleppart by my friend Macy, drawn on requestart by doodlenix (which is fucking hilarious)





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're going to fucking die. 

_There's a demon somewhere in the building,_ your bro said. He grinned at you, and you didn't flinch even though the look on his face made you feel like he was about to take a swing at you. _You're gonna go in and kill it. Or, y'know, not. Maybe. It's up to you, lil' man._

_What about you?_ you asked him. Never mind that questions usually earn you bruises or worse. You didn't want to walk into that damn place. It was abandoned, c'mon, if there's a demon here it's not hurting anyone, there's a couple hundred demons that're actual threats...

_I'll be keeping an eye on you,_ he said. Too quiet. Like he was covering up a laugh, like this whole thing was funny. _Gotta see if my lil' bro can handle a solo job, right?_

_...yeah. Fine. See you in a while, then._

And you checked that your weapons were where they should be, and you walked in. Now? Now you're screwed. 

There's something in here, yeah, but you don't have a damn clue where it is. Or what it is, really—Bro called it a demon, but he's used that word for all kinds of things you two have had to kill: vampires, shapeshifters, halfblood fae, actual true demons...

This isn't helping. 

"I fucking hate this stupid dark shit..." you mumble, trying to keep your back to a wall. Not that you know where the wall is. For all you know, you're backed up against a door and the thing's about to yank it open and rip you apart. 

"That makes two of us," someone says. Not your bro. 

_Fuck._

You grab for your sword, decide that the demon's probably out of range for that, and pull the gun that you absolutely hate using instead. It won't even kill most demons (or other supernatural creatures) but it'll make the actual kill a hell of a lot easier. 

"I see you, asshole," you growl, aiming in the approximate direction of the voice. (You do not, in fact, see him. You can't see anything. Damn.) 

"Really?" Great, now he sounds like he's laughing at you. Understandable, since now that he's talking again you can tell that you're pointing your weapon the wrong fucking way. "Good for you, but—" 

You reorient and pull the trigger. 

He's still talking when the ringing in your ears dies down a little. "—so either you don't actually want to blow a fucking hole in me or you were lying before. That, or I'm a lucky fucker." 

Wait. He knows where you are now, he had to have seen the muzzle flash even if he can't see in the dark. Oh, _fuck._ You need to move—

You have enough time to think that. Then someone grabs your wrist and twists hard enough that you're almost sure bones snap, snatching the gun away. 

_So fucking embarrassing,_ you think. _Shot with my own weapon. Bro won't even bother claiming my fucking body—_

Then you hear the distinct sound of a firearm clattering to the floor, and there's two hands on you instead of one. He doesn't even try to go for your blades, though—just puts more pressure on your already-sore wrist and _pulls_ , one leg sweeping your feet out from under you. 

The back of your head hits the concrete floor as the demon's knees drive down onto your chest. _Concussion. Cracked ribs._ God, but you hate that you can catalogue this shit. 

"Get _off_ —" you hiss as soon as you can gasp in a shallow breath. 

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up." Claws dig into your throat (shit shit _shit_ please no) and are gone almost immediately, leaving a sting of bright red pain there. You're bleeding, but not much. Not yet. "What the fuck are you supposed to be—bait? Food?" 

_Fuck._ "I'm your fucking death, asshole." You spit the words out to cover up the fact that you're fucking terrified right now. 

He _laughs._ A hand dips into your pockets, hunting through them as you squirm and try unsuccessfully to buck him off. "Fucking hunters. You're all overdramatic pieces of shit, you know that?" He finds what he's looking for and sits back just a little, all of his weight still on you, but on your stomach instead of your chest. 

When the flashlight clicks on you yelp and squeeze your eyes shut. It's too fucking bright—the only impression you get of the guy holding you down is a flash of pale skin and enormous red and black eyes. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," he says, very softly. "You _are_ bait. You're a fucking kid, what the hell?" 

"Shut up!" He's got one of your hands pinned down; you swing at him blindly with the other one. Even with your eyes closed you see the flashlight swing and spin as he drops it to catch your wrist. "I've killed you fuckers before, asshole, I'm not—" 

He squeezes your wrist. It's the one that he may or may not have broken already, and you stop talking and struggle to hold back a scream. 

"You have, haven't you?" He just sounds curious, and you risk opening your eyes again. 

Again, you're drawn to his fucking eyes. They're round and surprised, dark pupils huge enough to swallow up normal irises. Not that his are normal—as far as you can tell, he doesn't have sclera, just shifting shades of brighter and darker red. 

"Huh." He tilts his head slightly, not enough to break eye contact. "You're too fucking innocent for this shit." 

"Fuck you." It's a whisper. You're not even sure you're the one talking. 

"Get yourself a fucking incubus if that's what you want." 

"Get off me." C'mon, Dave, put some force behind that. Don't just ask him politely; that won't do a damn thing. 

"That won't get me out of this shithole, now will it?" The demon shakes his head, claws tracing along your neck again. 

_Wait. That means he's not holding me—_

"No, I'm not holding you. You still won't hit me." He sounds so fucking confident, and even though he's running his fingers across the scratches he already made, he's right. He's fucking _right._ You can't hit him. You can't fucking move. "I'm not about to kill you, believe it or not." 

"Get off me." 

"You sound like a fucking broken record." 

"My brother's going to take you apart, asshole." 

He blinks at that, and you feel whatever's holding you back from trying to hurt him flicker for a second. Just a second, though—not enough to do anything about it. "Your _brother._ " Coming from him, the word sounds like a curse. "So he's the one who set this shit up." 

"He didn't set anything up." 

"You don't know anything." 

"What?" The flashlight's a little bit away from your hand; you reach out and grab it, aiming it up at his face. Maybe you want him to flinch. That doesn't happen; all he does is blink again and reach up to shade his eyes for a moment as his pupils shrink down. 

_He's cute,_ you think. Those eyes are strange but pretty, and his face is the perfect shape to frame them, with curly red hair that goes so fucking well with that pale skin. He called you a kid, but he doesn't look older than around seventeen himself. Then you think, _fuck, what's wrong with me?_

"I mean, I don't know if it's something wrong with _you,_ but I can think of a couple wrong things here." He shifts to kneel straddling your stomach, rather than keep his weight on you, and you can't help but sigh in relief. 

Which is blotted out by anger as you realize that he's just responded to something you didn't say again. "Get the fuck out of my head!" 

"You're the one in my head, fuckass—you quit talking and I'll stop eavesdropping." The demon punctuates the sentence with a long, low snarl, and you have to force yourself to not flinch back. "Listen." 

"No, fuck you—" 

" _Listen to me._ " The words have an echo, one that you don't hear with your ears. "I don't want to kill you." 

"Yeah, right." 

"Your fucking brother knocked me out and trapped me here. If I had a fucking choice, I'd be somewhere where you stupid ass-headed hunters can't pin anything on me." He touches your face, this time, and you can see that his nails are just that—not claws, just long-ish nails. You've seen women with more dangerous-looking manicures. "But no, you've got a _brother_ who's the darkest motherfucker I've ever tasted, who decided he had to round me up like a fucking _animal,_ send you in here to get killed—" 

"That's not what he's doing!" Okay, now you can shout at him. Drown out what he's saying, even though some part of you is nodding in agreement. "I'm supposed to kill you, he sent me in here to kill you, it's—it's..." 

He leans forward and lays a warm finger across your lips. "Shush. You'll have him in here if you scream like that." 

"Good. Let _him_ kill you." _And probably beat me half to death for ending up in this fucking position._

"Wow, so you're willing to let him hurt you just as long as I die." 

"Stop _doing_ that!" 

"Can't help it." The demon shrugs; his eyes narrow as he leans down to put his face even nearer yours. "Do you want to kill me?" His teeth are even whiter than his skin, sharp and too fucking close to your throat right now. "I haven't hurt you. I'm not interested in hurting you. I just want someone to break the circle around this place and let me leave." 

Because you're a fucking coward, you close your eyes. "There's no goddamn circle." 

"Oh, there is. Lucky humans just can't see it." _Both_ of his hands are on your chest now, pressing down lightly enough that it doesn't hurt. "This entire place smells like him—corrupt, evil; I can fucking taste how much he wants to hurt us." 

"You. He wants to hurt _you._ " 

"Both of us," he says again, and laughs. There's a bitter note in it. "Your blood remembers hundreds of times it escaped your body because of something he did. He wants me to die, but he wants you to be hurt." 

_Fuck._

"I found a nerve, didn't I?" He brushes his fingertips across your cheek again, but this time you snap the hand that's not holding the flashlight up and grab his wrist. 

"Shut up." When you open your eyes, he doesn't look as scared as you expect. Curious, maybe. "You don't know him. You don't know me. You don't know anything—" 

"Shush." His free hand traces up your ribs, and you flinch, but you find that you can't bring yourself to strike him. _Those fucking eyes,_ you think, and he nods. "Mhm. There's a reason they're the windows to the soul; everybody knows that, right? But here. How deep was the cut? Was this the one he sewed up, to show you how to give yourself stitches, or did you do it?" 

"I fucking hate you." You're lying. The demon's voice is too soft and sympathetic for you to actually hate him. Plus...he's right. He can't possibly know about training sessions and killing lessons that your brother's been putting you through almost since you were old enough to walk, but he _does_ know. "You're wrong." 

His eyes change. The red nuances shift in a pattern that you instinctively recognise as sorrow. "He'll kill you. Or he'll keep you like some kind of fucking beast, just so he can keep getting off on having you hurt and scared." 

_He doesn't scare me,_ you mean to say. Or, _He doesn't hurt me._

Something else completely comes out, in a tone rough enough that you can barely recognise your own voice. "So I fucking hope for the former and expect the latter. It's not rocket science." 

_...shit, I didn't say that. No. Not out loud. Not to a demon._

"You did say it." His lips curve up in a smile that's not reflected in his eyes. "Say something else." 

"...what?"

"It's simple." He leans down further, pressing his face into the side of your neck. You can feel sharp teeth brush against your skin as he whispers, but he doesn't draw blood. "Ask for my help. 'Help me.' Just say that. Let me take the fucker down, okay?" 

_No. I can't. That's a demon. He's a hunter, he's my goddamn brother—_

But he's still murmuring in your ear, reminding you of your whole fucking life as his hands run across your torso and trace the crisscross of scars that he can't possibly see through your shirt. So fucking many scars, and yeah, some of them are from fights with demons or what he calls demons, but the rest? 

Your brother's been hurting you in the name of keeping you alive for damn near your whole life. _I hope for the former,_ you said a minute ago—and that's true, isn't it? You want Bro to kill you. You want this shit to be over. 

There's something warm and faintly salty on your lips. Not blood. Worse. Tears. 

Such a pathetic admission of weakness. He'd _kill_ you for that. 

"Help me," you whisper, and close your eyes. 

The demon laughs in your ear, breath hot against your skin, and pulls back. His full weight slams down onto your chest again, and you gasp in shock. You only get one breath in, though, because then his hands are closing around your throat, claws digging in and drawing blood. "Oh, you fucking weak bitch..." 

"No—" 

_Hey. Calm down. Trust me, hunter, I do have a fucking plan._

His voice is in your head, soothing and gentle and completely at odds with the gleeful snarl on his face as he strangles you with one hand and rips bloody lines in your shirt with the other. Except...

You've been choked out before, and he's not doing that. It might _look_ like he's killing you, but really? It's a little pain, a little bit hard to breathe, but every fucking sparring match with Bro takes you closer to death than this does. 

_Yeah. You gotta bleed for this to have a chance, but I'll fix it later. Assuming it works. Now I need you to_ scream _for your fucking brother._

_He'll kill you._ You don't say it out loud, but the demon grins wider, shaking his head slightly. 

_Other way around,_ he tells you, and takes his hand off your throat, grabbing a handful of your hair. _Scream._

And when he slams your head against the floor, you do. It's a hoarse, weak sound—you still kind of can't breathe, he's left bruises on your neck—but your second cry is louder, recognisable as a call for your brother. The demon's clawing at your chest and there's blood on his hands, he leans down and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and you fucking _howl._

Bro doesn't come. 

The demon keeps hurting you, carving patterns into the lattice of old scars that cover your chest, and you struggle but you can't throw him off. You bite your tongue and taste blood, when he slams your head against the floor again and you keep screaming. His hand closes around your throat and you _try_ to scream, you try so fucking hard—

There is the distinct and familiar sound of something solid impacting something alive, and the demon's weight leaves your chest. You have approximately two seconds to sob in a breath; then your brother's hauling you to your feet, tossing the tire iron he just decked the demon with to the floor. 

"Fucking _idiot_!" Before you can look up at him, his fist hits your chest, right where the demon bit you. You barely manage to swallow your cry of pain. "Can't do any-fucking-thing right, can you, Dave! _Can_ you?" 

It's a question, but your throat hurts too much to answer it even when he grabs your shoulders and gives you a rough shake. You shake your head, though. 

That earns you another punch, this one to your face. Something crunches in your nose—maybe he's broken it, maybe not, but there's blood running down your face now. You can feel it and taste it. 

"Let that fucking _thing_ get on top of you? Let it _win_?" He shakes you again, and this time you can't hold back the sound you make. "Fucking weak bitch—you're no Strider, are you? _Are_ you?" 

"Bro, please—" you manage, and this time he backhands you and something definitely just broke in your face. Oh, god. 

"Shut the _fuck_ up, lil' man, I just saved your fucking life and you—" 

He stops talking, and you automatically close your eyes against the expected blow. 

When it doesn't come, you open them again. 

Your brother isn't even looking at you anymore. No, he's looking down, past where he's gripping your shoulders. 

You look down too, and immediately step back. There's six inches of bloody blade sticking out of his chest—your sword, your fucking sword, he'd never touch the European-style shortsword you favor, he only uses his goddamn pretentious katana and that's not...that's not...

When you step away he sways and collapses, and the demon wrenches the blade out of your brother's back. He looks so much less human now—his skin's pure marble white, red hair darker, closer to the color of blood, with short horns poking out of it. He tosses your sword aside, giving you a quick glance with eyes that burn with fiery light and a fanged smile, then falls to his knees and drags your brother half-upright. 

_I don't want to see this,_ you think. 

Still, you don't move until the demon bows his head and rips out Bro's throat with his teeth. You see the spray of blood, you see white bone shining through the red, and then you spin away and immediately trip over your own feet. 

Thank god that you catch yourself and end up on hands and knees, because you're retching even on the way down, and the sounds of tearing flesh from behind you are more than enough to ruin any chance you have of getting yourself under control. Everything in your stomach seems to come up at once—except that can't be right, because it doesn't _stop._ You see your brother, you taste the blood in your mouth, and you keep throwing up. 

At some point, your arms give out. 

You don't fall into your mess, though. Someone's holding you up. _He's_ holding you up. The demon. 

_Are you going to kill me?_ you wonder. Somehow you can't bring yourself to care much. That can't be worse than puking your guts out, can it? 

"No, Dave," he murmurs in your ear, and you're scared as hell for a second before you remember that Bro used your name, before— _fuck, please don't think about that, I don't want to see._ "I won't kill you. I told you I wouldn't. I don't lie." 

"He's dead." Damn, but you sound awful. 

"Yeah. Fucker's dead." The demon loosens his grip on you for a second, quickly tightening it again when you almost fall. "We should go." 

"Body. His body." 

"There isn't one. We need to go, Dave; I don't fucking like it here." 

_We._ He keeps saying that. 

"I can carry you—" 

God, you want him to carry you, you really do. But you shake your head and make a decent effort to stand up. "Nah. I got it. Grab my sword? And the light?" 

You feel him nod, more than you see it, and he lets go of you again. Once he's not touching you, you raise one hand to wipe at your face, almost sobbing when you accidentally touch your nose. Yeah, he broke it. And you'll have some messy bruises tomorrow, too; only the ones from the demon are where you can cover them up. 

He slides your sword back into the sheath on your hip while you're still checking your face; the movement's so subtle that you're not surprised you didn't notice him taking it in the first place. "It's clean." 

"Thanks." As he pulls your arm over his shoulder, it occurs to you that you still haven't asked one of the most basic questions. "Hey, man." 

"Mm?" He adjust the flashlight in his free hand so you can see his face. He looks human again—or at least as human as he did before. There's a rising bruise across one temple, but not a drop of blood on him. "What?" 

"I don't know your name." 

"Oh." And the demon smiles. "Vantas. Karkat Vantas." 

"Dave Strider." Your smile back feels really fucking shaky, but at least you're trying. "You killed my brother. I, uh. I owe you." _So fucking much._

_Don't worry, we'll work that out,_ he says without saying anything. Then, "Worry about that later—I'm planning on hanging around you for a while. Let's get the fuck out of this shithole." 

"Yeah. Let's go break that fucking circle." 

And you lean on him, and he takes your weight like it's nothing and steers you towards what you assume is the exit. You trust him to get both of you out of here. 

Which is...weird as hell. But fuck it. He's a demon and you trust him anyway. After all, he helped you. You owe him. 

...and surprisingly, you're okay with that.


	2. Chapter 2

There _is_ a binding circle around the building; you have no fucking clue how you missed it. Yeah, it's just chalk lines on the ground; what looks like a straight line because of how large the circle itself is, and smaller symbols just outside the main circle, but still. 

You've been _raised_ to see this shit. 

_Bro would kick my ass for not noticing that,_ you think. Weirdly, you have to swallow back a sob at that—he sure can't kick your ass now, can he? 

"Goddamnit," you mutter, pulling away from Karkat's support and stepping over the chalk line as he stands and watches you. You do _feel_ the barrier, like a ringing in your ears as you cross it, enough to make you shake your head, but it doesn't stop you like it would a demon. 

He watches you as you lean down to rub at one of the symbols. "So you feel the circle?" 

"If I'm paying attention, yeah." God, why the fuck can't you get this damn thing to blur into illegibility? It's fucking _chalk,_ come on. "Useless lil' talent—" 

"Hey, if you can feel it you can use it." 

"Dude, I can't even draw up a fucking binding circle to save my life." Which is definitely true—you have a set of scars across your back from the last time you fucked one up. You sigh, thinking about that, then wince as that starts blood dripping from your nose again. 

A couple drops end up on the symbol you're trying to get rid of, though, which definitely helps. You rub at the design until it's just a blur of blood and chalk, then straighten up and nod at Karkat. 

Well. You try to, anyway. What really happens is that you stand up, your head spins like someone just punched you again, and you grab for support that isn't there to keep yourself from falling. 

_Shit shit shit you fucking dumbass—_

And Karkat grabs your arm, steadying you. "Quit calling yourself a dumbass." He's still in your head, then. Damn. Is that a bad thing? You want to think it's a bad thing. Bro would definitely think it's a bad thing. 

_Bro's dead._ And you're dizzy and in pain and staring into the eyes of the demon who killed him, thinking thoughts that aren't fucking appropriate to any hunter. _I'm fucking horrible._

"No you're not. But you might be in shock." Karkat blinks, leaning down and _somehow_ scooping you up in his arms. "Fuck, you don't weigh anything, do you?" 

"Shut up." You feel like you should be uncomfortable with this. Or at least pretend to be. Instead, you let your head fall onto his shoulder and close your eyes. "Fuck you." 

"Still not a succubus, dumbass." There's a note of amusement in his voice, but it's replaced by something else for his next sentence. Concern, maybe? No, that can't possibly be right. "Don't you pass out on me and make me clean you up out in the open." 

"You don't gotta clean me up..." Your mumbled words sound weird to your own ears. Shit, you're so fucked up right now. 

"Shush. Most of this mess is my doing; I might as well put that blood back in your poor fucking hide." He huffs and shifts one hand to brush against bare skin where he ripped your shirt open, dragging an unwilling whine out of you. "...I'm sorry I went as hard as I did on you, though." 

"I've. I've had worse." Which is true. You're still conscious and capable of speech—hell, you've had training sessions worse than this. Bro can be one hell of a demanding teacher.

_Or at least he could be,_ you correct yourself, with a strong flash of guilt. 

"Don't you fucking dare." 

"What?" 

"That guilt trip shit? You're not allowed to do that. Not for that bastard." He growls and shudders at the same time, and you feel both the sound and the motion through your contact with him. "Somebody should've killed him years ago. Why the fuck didn't one of you hunters put him down like the fucking rabid dog he was? I _know_ some of you had to see that shit, don't fucking tell me he only let the crazy out in places where he could kill all the witnesses." 

You're kind of lost in that string of words, too caught up in the sound of his voice to absorb the meaning. When Karkat stops talking it takes you a minute to actually parse what he just said, realize that he might want a response. 

Not that you have a decent one of those. 

"He's good at his job, man," you offer eventually, thinking about opening your eyes and deciding against it. Your head hurts too much. "Killed the shit people wanted killed, didn't raise too much hell otherwise. Not where anybody would notice." 

You immediately regret that last sentence as the demon lets out a low, ferally angry growl. "Not where anybody would notice," he repeats, and growls again. "And none of those assholes noticed _you_?" 

_Fuck._ The spike of fear lancing up through your gut is instinctive; your breath catches in your chest as you try to deal with it. "Not supposed to." _He told me what'd happen to me if he got taken in for the shit he did to me. Jail for him, maybe, maybe not, but they'd take me, I'd land in a fucking foster home, and that kind of people don't let you keep weapons. They'd never believe that the reason I know what I know is because my whole fucking family attracts demons and creatures like honey draws flies. They'd smile and nod and send me to therapists, and I'd be dead inside a month._

_He told me._

"I wish I'd killed the motherfucker slower," Karkat growls, and sets you down on something halfway soft. 

You know he didn't actually walk far enough, didn't open any doors, but when you open your eyes you're on the bed in the sleazy hotel room Bro rented for the week you and him were supposed to be here. 

As he goes over to slide the security chain into the slot, you push yourself up to sit like a fucking normal person. That _hurts,_ too, pulses of pain running through your head until you have to squeeze your eyes shut against the way the lights in the room seem to go brighter with the express purpose of burning your eyes. 

"Stay still," the demon says, and you feel his weight settle on the mattress next to you. A moment later his hands are on your face, holding your head steady. "Open your eyes." 

You almost say _fuck you_ again, out of pure reflex. He doesn't deserve that, though, and instead you say, "That's gonna hurt," and hate the tremor in your voice. _Oh, you weak lil' bitch._ The mental voice isn't yours, but it's pretty fucking familiar anyway. 

"I know it's going to hurt." If Karkat knows what you're thinking right now, he doesn't let on; just shifts his hands a little, brushes hair back from your face with a motion that's as calm and soothing as his voice. "For a minute, anyway. Maybe a little longer, but hey, it's better than letting that shit work itself out, I swear." 

"I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about," you point out. But you crack your eyes open the smallest bit anyway, manage not to flinch away from the light, and slowly open them the rest of the way, focusing on his eyes the best you can. 

Which, honestly, isn't all that well. You're not seeing double, but everything's bright and fuzzy, more like an overexposed snapshot than what the world's supposed to be. 

Karkat's frowning at you. Damn. 

"You're a mess, Dave." 

"And you're a fucking demon; you got a point?" 

"You're lucky I _am_ a demon." He huffs, nails digging into your scalp just a little as he tightens his grip on you. Weirdly, that doesn't really hurt, even though every other stimulus is equal to more pain right now; it's just a sensation that you notice and catalogue and just kind of accept. "Your head's all fucked up—how many concussions have you even _had_?" 

Something about that half-rhetorical question starts you laughing. And _fuck_ does that hurt. You still can't stop, though. 

Karkat sighs and leans in to let his forehead rest against yours, and wow, you're...really not sure how comfortable you are with this. Yeah, for some fucking reason you trust him, yeah he helped you when he had no reason to not just kill you, but having somebody this close to you is tripping every danger-switch your brother's taken such pains to make sure you have. You don't just stop laughing, you stop _breathing_ for a second, trying to figure out how to make your arms work, how to push him away, _get him off before somebody sees—_

Red lightning lances through your head. That's not even a figure of speech—it feels like laying your hands on live current. Your vision goes bright bloody red, the space behind your eyes first tingles and then seems to just catch fire, flaring white-hot—

_I'm going to fucking die,_ you think, again. 

Then your body actually follows through on the movement it began when the weird organic lightning struck you, jerking away from the demon. As soon as your contact with him is gone, so is eighty percent of the pain, leaving you shaking and dizzy as you try to curl up against the headboard. 

For the first time you realize that you're on the wrong bed, because there's a gun under the pillow that you sure as hell didn't put there. You jerk away from _that,_ too, disjointed thoughts of what's going to happen if your brother finds you on his bed running through your mind. _It's an invitation, it's me asking for what happens to me, it's—_

Karkat grabs you before you can go off the edge of the bed, thankfully. There's no way you wouldn't just hit the floor and hurt yourself worse. 

"Dave, holy shit—stop, okay? Stop, that part's over, I swear—" He stops talking for a second when you try to punch him, catching your wrist and flipping you around so your back's pressed against his chest, pinning your arms against your own chest and holding on as you struggle against him. "Hey. Hey, listen to me. Look. It's okay, I'm sorry, I should've told you that was going to happen, I know it had to hurt but you were _hurt,_ okay? Your blood doesn't listen well, it was harder than I thought it'd be to sort out your head. Calm the fuck down, I'm not going to really hurt you—" 

"Lemme go." You've managed to stop trying to get free of him, about halfway through his not-so-smooth string of words, but you're still panicky as fuck. "Fucking let me go, I need—let me—" 

The constriction of his arms is gone before you can tell him a third time. As soon as he lets go, you scramble away, stumble as soon as your feet hit the floor— _fuck_ —and pull yourself up using the wall. You have to wince as every touch leaves bloody fingerprints on the ugly wallpaper. 

You only have your back to him for maybe a second, but when you manage to turn around and put the wall at your back where it belongs, Karkat's on his feet as well, hands up in an unspoken promise of nonviolence. Great, now he looks scared. You're scaring a demon; who would've thought? 

"Dave." 

"Yeah." _Stop. Stop. He's trying to help me. If he kills me it's my own damn fault, but he probably won't. Come on, asshole..._

"I'm not going to kill you, Dave, I fucking _told_ you that." 

The irritation that he only kind of tries to cover up gives you something to ground yourself on. It helps. Still, "Why the hell do you keep doing that?" 

"Doing what?" 

"Reading my mind." 

That gets you a huffy growl and an eye-roll from him. "I don't read your fucking mind!" 

"You answer the shit I don't say, asshole—what the hell would you call it?" 

"I'll tell you if you come over, sit your ass down, and let me finish cleaning you up." He scowls at you for just a second, then shakes his head, holding out his hand. "Deal?" 

_Don't you fucking do it, lil' man._ At the ghost-memory of that fucking voice, you wince and Karkat growls softly. 

"Oh, fuck you," you mutter, and grab his hand, using it for leverage to pull yourself away from the support of the wall. Thankfully, he immediately steps in when you stagger, pulling your arm over his shoulder and letting you use him to define which way is up and which is down—somethng that you don't seem able to do for yourself right now, even if your vision's clear again. "Man, if this weird shit's permanent, you might as well kill me now." 

"The vertigo shouldn't last more than a couple hours." You can feel his shrug. "Once you sleep, it'll be gone, I promise." 

"Yeah, sure." You jerk your head at the other bed, _your_ bed, and instantly regret it as the whole fucking room spins lazily in response. " _Ow._ Over there, 'less you want me to lose my shit again at some point." 

He glances at your face, and you can _feel_ him trying to decide if he can ask. 

_Please just let it go for now, okay?_ This time you make a deliberate effort to have him hear the thought. _Not like you'd want to know, anyway, come on, just chalk it down to me being a fucking idiot._

Does he hear? You have no idea. But he guides you over to the right bed, pushes you down gently and sits down beside you before he says anything else. "You know, you _really_ can't read minds if you think I don't want to know about your shit." 

"Hey, I never said I could read your mind. I already told you I can't play with magic." When he starts pulling at what's left of your shirt—which isn't all that much; he pretty much ripped the front of it into nonexistence back there—you tense up. That's all you do, though; score a point for self-control. "That shit's for demons and witches, not something like me." 

"Don't you mean some _one_ like you?" 

_Shit._ "Yeah. Fucking whoops—" Karkat trails his fingertips across the bloody mess that is your chest, and you lose the rest of whatever you planned to say in a gasp and a full-body shudder. 

That hurts. That really fucking hurts. You can handle pain, though, you've been trained to deal with that shit, that's okay, that's fucking _fine._ What you can't handle is the feeling under the pain, something that's as much in your head as under your skin—not quite pleasure, but a promise of pleasure, an expectation that you haven't fucking earned and you're not sure you want. 

The only thing you can really compare it to is a more painful version of the half-serious makeout session that was your first and pretty much only kiss. The memory of that makes you clench your hands into fists and hunch down into yourself. 

Karkat notices. Of course he does. He takes his hand away, leaning back to just fucking _look_ at you. "Damn." 

"What." You want to snap back at the demon, but you can't find the energy to do it. Instead you start to cross your arms, remember that you're still covered with blood, and let them drop back to your sides, looking back at him and praying that you don't look as pathetic as you feel right now. "Don't give me one fucking word and let me try to work out what you mean, I swear to god." 

"Damn, you're a _mess._ " 

"You said that already. Now who sounds like a broken record?" 

That bit of snark earns you a surprisingly genuine, if brief, grin from him. (His teeth aren't sharp and jagged anymore, you notice, and promptly catalogue that fact under the "things that don't fucking matter right now" file.) "Hey, it needs saying." 

"Fuck you." You can't put any bite in that phrase anymore. Weird. 

He knows you don't mean it, too, because he gives you another flash of white teeth as he shifts a little closer. "Would it make it easier to deal with if I explain what I'm doing?" 

"Who says I can't deal with whatever the hell you're doing?" 

"The guy who cringes like somebody's going to take a swing at him, probably." 

_Damn. Is that really what I'm doing?_

"Pretty much, yeah." Karkat shrugs. 

"How the _fuck_ are you doing that?" 

"Look at me and I'll tell you." 

_Bad idea,_ you think. You do it anyway. In this lighting, the patterns of red-on-red in his eyes are somehow more visible, shifting oh-so-slowly into shapes that might have meaning. 

Karkat blinks, and the patterns change completely. "You're the one who looked first," he says. "You made a fucking choice, okay? Or maybe you didn't make a choice, but I'm pretty sure you didn't want me to kill you, and that was enough to do it." 

"Do _what_?" There's a whine in your voice that you can hear. You absolutely hate it. 

"Make a connection." 

"I didn't do that." 

"Yeah, you did." 

"You're the demon; you did it." 

"Now why the fuck would I hook my mind into yours?" His eyes go darker red; you're pretty sure that's something to worry about. "You're a hunter—you probably want to wipe everything like me off the fucking face of the earth, get rid of all the demons so you can have the world to yourself, round up the halfbloods and keep them from fucking up your nice pure humans—" 

You don't know you're going to shove him until he's on the floor. Looking down at him, you're dimly aware that you just made a pretty damn stupid move, but fuck it. 

"Shut the fuck up." When was the last time you were this purely angry? You don't even know. Maybe when Bro made that last phone call, the one he ended by slamming the cellphone against the wall until his hand was bleeding and there was a noticeable chunk out of the drywall. "Unless you actually fucking looked at my mind, you don't get to say a damn thing about what kind of hunter I am—" 

"Don't you listen to any-fucking-thing I'm saying here, fuckass?" The demon glares up at you, baring his teeth for a moment. (Yep, they're sharp again. That's threatening even when he's flat on his back on the floor.) "All I can hear from your mind is what you _let_ me hear. I'm not the one running this shitshow." 

"And you think I am?" 

He nods. For some reason that just makes you angrier. 

Purposefully trying to make him see what you remember is stupid as hell, but you grit your teeth and you stare into those fascinating eyes, and you do it anyway. 

Memories are hard to sort out for you. Always have been. Instead of picking one, you think of a category of them that you usually push away: the ten, twenty, _hundred_ times you picked up your brother's phone, opened his laptop, went through his shit just to find the emails and messages his contacts sent. Some of them, maybe most of them? They were pointless shit, offers of sex or questions about where he was planning to be, guys asking if he could pick them up a certain weapon or help out with getting rid of a body.

Of what was left, it'd always be fifty-fifty. Half warning of _actual_ threats, things that'd killed and were probably/definitely going to kill again. Those you left. 

The other half? The tipoffs for the shifters who chose to pass as human, the demons who used glamours so they'd be left alone, the halfbloods who didn't even know what they were, all those beings that weren't human and didn't fucking deserve to get hunted down for that fact? 

You deleted every fucking one you could. Wiped the records of any leads for them, and hoped that your brother didn't catch you doing it. 

Not that hoping was always enough. 

"Fuck," the demon on the floor whispers. 

"Yeah. Fuck." You shake your head and make an effort to push the memories away. Doesn't really work. "Don't fucking tell me what I am, asshole." 

When he just keeps staring up at you, you close your eyes and flop back onto the bed. _Why are you even still here? You're out of the circle, you can leave whenever you want._

"I'm not ready to leave yet." You refuse to open your eyes as Karkat settles next to you, but you're pretty sure if you did you'd see him leaning over you, those damn eyes fixed on your face. "Besides, you owe me." 

_Shit._

"Calm the fuck down, hunter." His hands start moving across your chest again, more slowly this time. The conflicting sensations are still there, but you're too fucking tired to care. "What do you think I'm going to make you do?" 

"Dunno." A couple unpleasant possibilities come to mind, though, and you don't make any effort to hide those thoughts from him

Karkat hisses, and his hands pause for a moment. "Oh fuck no. That's sick, that's—who the fuck gets off on that kind of thing?" 

"Demons." 

"...okay, fair point. But not me." You can't see it and you can't feel it through his slight contact with you, but he shudders. You know he does. "Fuck. No. Right now the fact you owe me is an excuse for me to hang around with you; it's not like you can make me go away." 

"Huh." That's probably something you should worry about. But... "Dude, I dunno what you're doing to me, but I'm so fucking close to just passing out..." 

"Yeah, that's normal." Is he smiling? He sounds like he's smiling. "I'll still be here when you wake up, trust me." 

"Yeah. I believe you." 

_Unfortunately._

Karkat's still laughing quietly about that when you stop being aware of him and everything else. The only thing you carry down into unconsciousness is the feel of his fingers dragging back and forth across your skin, and the knowledge that the pleasant half of that sensation is going to give you worse dreams than the painful half is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is becoming very self-indulgent tbh


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhhh warning for mentioned/implied sexual and emotional abuse in this chapter
> 
> there is nothing graphic but the implication is there

You wake up, slowly. That's one of the things Bro's never managed to break you of; no matter what the circumstances, you've never been able to do that thing a proper hunter can, snapping from one state of consciousness to another with just about no intermediate state. No, you're _slow._

There's stages. 

Hearing. You can hear the rattle of a halfway-fucked air conditioning unit somewhere, the soft rasp of breath through your own lungs. The air conditioner is par for the course of shitty hotel rooms; at this point the damn thing's almost soothing. It's not enough to lull you back to sleep, though. 

Why the fuck not?

Your head hurts. There's a knot in your stomach telling you that you've fucked up the simple task of remembering to eat (well, and actually doing it) again. One more thing that's par for the fucking course. Is there even food in the room? You don't remember last night's dinner. You—

Your subconscious finishes checking out what you can feel, and reports back. And hey, it's pretty close to worst-case-scenario—he's in bed with you. He's curled up against your back, still asleep for some fucking reason, but you have no clue how long _that's_ going to last.

_Oh, fuck, I need to move, I need to clean myself up, even if he's drunk enough to pull this shit he's not going to sleep for much longer..._

Even as you're thinking that you _are_ moving, rolling out of bed soundlessly almost before you open your eyes. You're still barely half-awake as you head for the bathroom, trying to catalogue what kind of state Bro's left you in this time.

_Doesn't taste like he made me get drunk. Throat hurts like I threw up, not like he choked me or did other shit._ You stop to run your fingers across your neck, pressing down gently to check for sore spots on the pressure points he usually hits across your windpipe, then run your hands down across your body. _Shirt's gone. Slept in my jeans? He didn't make me finish stripping?_

Your sleep-fuzzy mind isn't making any sense of this. Instead of actually trying, you grope for the doorknob, slipping into the bathroom and very carefully shutting the door before you hit the lights. 

The mirror doesn't help, for a moment. You stare at yourself and see a towheaded teen with a bewildered frown and a bruised face— _why the fuck? He wouldn't sleep with me after he kicked my ass_ —and a patchwork of scars that show up pure white against your pale chest. Well, most of them are white. There's a few sets that're a little more red, a little brighter, obviously newer, you don't fucking _understand—_

You spin around when the bathroom door opens, but it's not Bro. 

No. 

Of course it's not. 

It's a kid your age with curly red hair that's even wilder with bedhead than it was before and sleepily concerned inhuman eyes. Except he's not a kid, of course. Or at least not a human kid. 

_I'm such a fucking idiot._

Karkat tilts his head and stares at you, not moving out of the doorway. "Why the fuck are you calling yourself an idiot now?" His voice is sleep-rough, but less irritated than confused. "You were upset. Enough to wake me up." 

"I'm not fucking upset." _Liar, liar...shit, he can hear me thinking that, can't he?_

"Only because you want me to." 

"God _fucking_ dammit!" You have an urge to tell him to get out of your head. Since you're perfectly aware that the only response you'd get is him pointing out calmly that he isn't in your head, you don't do that. "Get out." 

"Look, you can't actually get rid of me that easily—" 

"I want to take a fucking shower, I'm—" _a fucking disgusting piece of shit_ "—sore. I slept in my jeans, there's _blood_ on my jeans, there's—just get out and let me clean up." 

Karkat's head tilts to one side when you pause, and you know he's parsing what you didn't actually say. For a second you wonder if he'll call you on it. If he does, there's a fifty-fifty chance you'll either hit him or dissolve into a sobbing mess. 

But he just nods when you finish speaking, stepping back into the other room and shutting the door. 

Once he's gone, you take a shaky breath and turn the water on. Your jeans go straight in the trash—they're pretty shitty anyway, and you don't feel like struggling to get bloodstains out of denim. Easier to just pick up another pair somewhere; it's not like Bro's going to complain about you needing—

_...oh. Fuck._

You're starting to wonder how long it'll take you to stop being surprised that he isn't going to be around anymore. 

Showering is fifteen minutes of not thinking at all, which is pretty damn pleasant even if the hot water makes the bruises on your face sting and ache at first. At least there aren't any cuts—Karkat took care of those, didn't he? All that's left are those reddish scars and some bruising low on your chest, and that barely hurts at all. Hardly even counts as an injury, when you think about what you looked like last night. 

(The fact he fixed you means you owe him even more, but you definitely don't think about that. Nope. Not even a little bit.) 

When you step out of the shower, there's one of your clean shirts and a non-ruined pair of jeans, folded neatly on the counter. You didn't hear him come in to put them there—damn but he's quiet, isn't he? And your shades are sitting on top of the clothes. 

_Well, fuck. You know what I want, don't you?_

_You're not as secretive as you think you are, fuckass._ You almost drop the towel you're drying your hair with when Karkat's amused voice echoes through your mind. _Get dressed and come eat before you pass out._

_Like I'd do that._ You try to put as much scorn as you can in the thought. If the demon hears it at all, he doesn't answer. _Ugh. You're a jerk, you know that?_

Still no mental answer, but you're almost certain you hear a soft snort from the other room. 

Karkat's perched on the counter when you come out of the bathroom, frowning down at Bro's cellphone. He doesn't even look up at you. "I checked the voicemail on this," he says. 

"Yeah?" You shrug and open the minifridge, finding the pizza left over from yesterday. "You want some of this?"

"No, I ate enough yesterday. You eat it—you did a week's worth of healing last night, you need food. A couple of the messages might mean we have a problem, Dave." 

_We._ Why does he say that? It's not like he'll have a problem—if there's a problem, it's gonna be all on you, like it should be. 

"Put it on speaker and lemme hear them, then." 

Karkat nods and starts tapping at the screen, and you sit down on one of the high stools and take a bite of cold pizza. You're halfway done with that piece before he gets the message to play. 

" _Hey. Bro. What the fuck?_ " 

You choke on your food, as soon as you hear the voice. The demon slides off the counter, setting the phone down so he can whack you on the back. 

Maybe you should focus on breathing. Instead, you try to stifle your own coughing so you can hear the recorded voice. 

" _If you're going to pull this shit, at least text me to say you're going to blow me off. Call me back, asshole._ " The phone beeps to indicate the end of the message. 

"Holy fuck," you mutter, setting the piece of pizza you were working on down and staring at the phone. _Bro told me they didn't talk anymore. Fucking lying bastard._

"There's more messages." 

"Play 'em. Please." 

Karkat picks up the phone, glancing at you to see if you want to take it. You _really_ don't. After a second he gets the next message to play. 

" _It's Dirk again, although I'm guessing you know that. What's going on? You're two hours late and you still haven't texted._ " 

Beep. 

" _Answer your goddamn phone._ " 

Beep.

" _Do you want to tell me why the tarot cards that keep coming up for you right now are Death and The Tower? And your card, the Devil, why the fuck is it coming up inverted? What the fuck did you do?_ " There's a note in your cousin's voice that you recognize; something between panic and fury. " _Pick up your phone, fucker. Pick up your fucking phone and stop_ ignoring _me!_ " 

Silence, for maybe thirty seconds. 

Then, " _...call me. Please._ " 

Beep. 

"That's all of them," Karkat says, pulling the phone away when you reach for it. "Finish eating." 

"I need to call him." 

"A couple minutes isn't going to make all that much of a difference when he's been waiting fifteen hours. Eat." When you reluctantly nod, he hops back up onto the counter again, dropping the phone on his lap. "Who was that?" 

"Dirk." You take a bite to give yourself time to decide what you can say. _The only guy who even kind of bothered to give a fuck about how Bro trained me. One of my best friends, until Bro got in a fight with the rest of the family and went solo with me._ "My cousin. Lil' older than me. He's a good guy." 

"You didn't know your brother was in contact with him, did you." 

_Fucking asshole told me Dirk and the others cut us off. Cut_ him _off._ "I'm not playing twenty questions right now, Karkat." Not that he made that a question. More of a statement of fact, trying to coax answers out of you. "No. I didn't. Doesn't matter." 

Karkat's sharp bark of laughter makes you jump. "You're sending a fuckload of anger and anxiety at me, over something that 'doesn't matter.'" 

_Then don't listen._ You think the words deliberately, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you pretend to examine the last slice of pizza. _Or pretend you don't listen. Nobody's paying you to give a shit._

Funny. You can see the minute change in the demon's posture as he listens to your thoughts; he leans toward you just the slightest bit, red eyes narrowing. "Who said anybody had to? Maybe I'm just fucking curious; did that ever enter your thick fucking skull?" 

_Says the demon._

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

_Your kind doesn't do anything without getting something back._

"Value for value received is fae, idiot." 

"Demons too." _He told me so._

Karkat sighs and slides the phone across the counter towards you. "Look, I don't know if you've noticed, but half the shit your brother told you is sketchy at best and an outright fucking lie at worst. I'm a demon. I'm _not_ a self-serving asshole who's motivated by personal gain and nothing else." 

You believe him. 

Do you believe him? 

_Why the fuck is everything so complicated?_

"Because you make it that way, probably." 

"Shut—" 

"Yeah, yeah, shut up and fuck off, I know, I _know._ " He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Call your cousin. It's the number that comes up four times in voicemail." 

"Yeah." You don't know the last time you actually made a fucking phone call; isn't that pathetic? Not that it's something you forget; it's just...it feels weird. Feels wrong. 

That feeling of worried misplacement only makes you hesitate for a second before you pick up the phone and hit redial for Dirk's number. It rings enough times for you to start to wonder if you're going to get voicemail too.

" _Bro, I'm going to kick your fucking ass._ " Yeah. That's him. 

"Hey, Dirk." 

" _What—Dave? Holy fuck._ " 

"Yeah, that's about right." Okay, not good. Just talking to him is enough to make your throat tighten and your eyes fill up; you can't start crying on this call. You _can't._

" _Shit, are you okay? What's going on? Why the hell do you have Bro's phone—he told us he didn't even know where you were—_ "

The noise that comes out of you makes Dirk stop talking. Karkat looks at you sharply, obviously trying to decide whether that was a sob or a laugh. You just shake your head and shove your shades up with your free hand, rubbing at your eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, no. He's a fucking liar, he was a _fucking_ liar, he said y-you wouldn't fuckin' talk to him, you know that? He swore, do you get it, he—shit." 

God, this call's already not going well. 

"Give me the phone," Karkat whispers, touching your shoulder. You shake your head stubbornly and flap one hand at him— _no, shut up, you can't do this, I have to handle it._

" _Dave?_ " 

"Sorry." 

" _Dude, you don't have to apologize._ " He sighs, hesitating for a second. " _Something happened last night, didn't it? Something bad._ " 

"You...you could say that." 

"Give me the _phone,_ " Karkat hisses.

" _Dave, where's Bro?_ " 

_Dirk, please don't hate me._ "Dead. It's fucking—he's dead, I—this is my—fuck. _Fuck._ " 

You very carefully take your shades off and set them on the counter. You can't see a damn thing out of them right now. 

When you open your mouth to try to explain what happened to Dirk, a sob comes out, and this time Karkat doesn't ask. He leans down and plucks the phone out of your hand, his free hand coming down to rub comfortingly against your shoulder. 

"Dave needs a minute," the demon says, then pauses. You can very faintly hear Dirk saying something. "Karkat Vantas. Met him last night." 

Pause. 

"It is, and I was, and if you want more answers about it you can fucking ask them to my face. I don't like phones." 

Pause, and Karkat laughs. It doesn't sound genuine, and the scowl on his face doesn't waver.

"He's...not hurt. If you mean mentally, then no, he's not fucking okay, but that asshole dying isn't all of what fucked him up." 

_Short_ pause, probably because Karkat interrupts while Dirk's still talking. 

"I already said this, fuckass, but for you I'll repeat myself—you want an answer to that, you ask it to my fucking face. And don't you _dare_ ask him, either—you didn't notice or care about this shit before, you sure as fuck don't get to badger him over the fucking phone about it now." Karkat's tone is low and surprisingly calm, but you catch the flash of too-sharp teeth as he speaks, and the hand rubbing your shoulder has claws instead of fingernails again. 

_He's pissed._

_You're fucking right I'm pissed._ The demon's eyes move to you for a second as he tells you that, then focus on whatever it is people look at when they're talking on the phone. "Oh fuck no. Of course not, don't be a fucking idiot. I want to help him, not hurt him." 

"Karkat, either put the damn thing on speaker or give me back the fucking phone." Ouch. You hate how your voice sounds when you're crying. 

"Okay, okay. Fuck, you two don't even have to talk to each other to gang up on me, do you?" He rolls his eyes and hands you the phone, but leaves his hand on your shoulder. _Dave, if he says shit that makes you feel worse—_

_If I can't handle it I'll let you talk to him. But I can. I trust Dirk, just...this shit hurts._ "...hello?" 

" _Hey. Do you need me to come get you? I will, you know. If I'd known you were with him in the first place, I would've come and picked you up in a heartbeat, I swear._ " His voice cracks on the last word, and you can imagine the face he just pulled, all self-disgust and sympathetic pain. " _I didn't know you were with him._ " 

"Yeah. I didn't know you still talked to him." You should be explaining. You should be saying something useful. Instead? "Like...remember when he had that fight with D? He told me all y'all cut him off. Blocked his fucking number. Wouldn't talk to him." 

" _For a week, maybe that was true. And I guess Rose still won't won't have anything to do with him, but that's more worry about her girlfriend than anything else._ " 

"Her...what?" 

" _...I'm going to put that on the list of things to tell you about later. Besides, she's the one who should get to clue you in on her own personal shit._ " 

"Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense." Your eyes hurt. When you reach up to rub them again you realize you're still crying. "Dirk, I'm—" 

" _Do you want me to come get you?_ " he asks again, before you can tell him you're sorry. " _I mean, any of us being alone isn't exactly the safest thing. It'd be better if you could come home._ " 

_Home._ See, there's a concept you haven't owned for ten fucking years at least. Home isn't a place, it's a pickup truck and a person and an endless string of hotels and campgrounds and fucking _jobs._

" _Dave?_ " 

The truck's parked outside. The person's dead, nothing left of him but some blood on concrete and your headful of memories. Maybe there's some hotels in your future, but you're the one who'll choose them, not Bro. And as for the jobs, you don't know yet. 

" _Dave, are you still there?_ " 

"Yeah. I'm here." 

" _Did you hear what I asked before?_ " 

"I heard you. Uh." _I want to see him. Yo, Karkat, does that count as a bad idea?_ When the demon shakes his head, you tell Dirk, "Text me directions and I'll make my way there myself, if you're cool with your asshole cous' showing up for a while." 

" _Hey, that sounds fucking amazing. I missed my asshole cousin, remember?_ " 

_Shit, here come the tears again._ "Missed you too, Dirk." It comes out as a whisper, and you hope he heard it. 

" _I know, man. Look, I'm going to let you go, okay? I'll call you tonight, maybe give you Rose's number if you're okay with talking to her—_ " 

"Shit, please. Haven't gotten to talk to her since before Bro fucked things up between us and you guys." 

" _...we never meant to let you get cut off, Dave._ "

"That's not—fuck, I didn't mean to say you did. Just..." Okay, you've messed up this conversation badly enough that you're getting close to going into vaporlock. "Can we leave that for later too? Like, I swear I don't blame you, it's—it's just complicated." 

" _Of course we can. I feel like there's going to be a lot of shit we have to talk about when you get here._ " 

"...yeah." He doesn't now how threatening that statement feels, even from him. "Talk to you later, then?" 

" _Yeah. Love you, Dave._ " 

_That_ freezes you up like nothing else could. When was the last time those two words were directed at you?

"Dave?" Karkat asks. 

_I'm fine._ "Love you too, Dirk." Then the phone beeps, and you set it down next to your shades and cover your face with both hands. "Fuck." 

"Fuck?" Karkat slides off the counter again, dragging the other stool over so he can sit next to you and wrap one arm around your shoulders. It's the exact amount of contact that you can tolerate, just casual enough that the guilt and fear doesn't kick in but on another level not casual at all. "Can you talk to me?" 

"Dunno." You know that your hands are muffling your words, but there's no way in hell you're lowering them until you can stop crying. "He's okay with me coming to see him. 'm gonna do that." 

"Good. He's your family." 

"I'm...assuming you're coming?" 

"Unless you're going to throw a shitfit over it." 

"Wasn't planning on it." _Dunno if I could make it from here to there on my own._

"Good thing you don't have to find out, huh?" His grip on you tightens, just a little, and you feel the first flicker of worry—that's closer to what you're not allowed, even if you're not looking at him and you're not doing anything he's still getting closer to the line between shit _everyone_ does and shit you can only do with people you're planning on doing _more_ with. 

The memory that flashes through your head makes you wince and hunch down away from Karkat's touch. _You're a hunter,_ the version of Bro that's probably always going to live in your head snarls. _You stay away from girls, you stay away from guys, you stay away from everyone but me, do you fucking hear me? Disobey me again and you'll wish you'd never been born, lil' man—_

"Dave, hey." Karkat growls softly, taking his arm away and laying a hand on your shoulder instead. "He's not here anymore." 

_Fuck._ He saw all of that, didn't he? "Yeah. I know." 

"He can't hurt you for little shit." Karkat's voice is so goddamn _gentle._ He's going to start you sobbing again.

"Let it go, okay?" 

"Dave—" 

"Please." 

He's quiet for a second. As you take your hands away from his face, he meets your eyes and nods. "Alright. But we're not done talking about this shit." 

Oh, you know you're not. "Yeah. Leave it until we get to Dirk's place." 

"Deal. We should get your shit together to leave." 

"We definitely should."

But for the next couple minutes, you just sit there, not moving, with his hand on your shoulder, and wait for your eyes to not be full of tears.


	4. Chapter 4

Packing up the room doesn't take long. You take your stuff out to the truck, go through and gather everything important (translation: all the weapons Bro stashed) and carry _them_ out. Your stuff gets shoved in the backseat. His, you toss in the very back. If it blows out, fuck it. There's absolutely nothing he can do about it, and you don't give a fuck. 

For some reason, that's got you grinning as you go back in to check on Karkat, who's going over the room one more time to see if you missed any weapons. It's a good thing he did that, too, because you step in and the demon's perched on a stool, with three handguns and a ten-inch hunting knife laid out on the counter in front of him.

"Where the fuck were these?" 

"Behind the microwave, taped to the wall in one of the cabinets, tucked in between the mattresses, and down in the toilet tank." Karkat taps the guns and the knife as he lists their hiding places, not looking up from the phone in his other hand. "Does he hide shit like this every time?" 

"Kinda." _Usually it's worse, since cleaning didn't mean either you or me getting hurt this time around._ You sit down on the other stool and lean over to see what he's looking at. 

Maps. Fuck, you hate maps. 

"So, what? He'd hide them and then booby-trap the hiding places?" 

"And had me round them up, yeah." 

The demon huffs, glancing up at you for a second. "That's _sick._ " 

"It's training," you point out with a shrug. (Never mind that some part of you is shaking its head in disappointment as it asks _training for what?_ That thought's too deep for him to read, anyway.) "Dirk send those directions yet?" 

"He did, and I checked them over." Karkat hands you the phone, one eyebrow quirking up at the look on your face. "I'm guessing you want the summary, huh?" 

"Fuck yeah I do, if you got one." _Don't make me look at the hell squiggles, man._

He snorts. "Okay, okay. It's at least a couple days of driving, unless you want to not fucking stop. Which we could technically do—I don't exactly _need_ to sleep every night. It'd mean me passing out for maybe two days when we get where they're going, but hey." He shrugs and spreads his hands, and those red eyes flash as he adds silently, _I'd be okay with that so long as you don't take the opportunity to talk them into killing me. Or to kill me yourself._

"I wouldn't do that." You're very surprised at how little time it takes you to come up with that response, and at the amount of force you want to put behind it. _Wow, I'm a shitty hunter._

"I mean, that depends on your definition of 'hunter,' doesn't it?" 

"It's pretty damn clear-cut here, man. A hunter's a hunter. You kill demons, you try not to get wrecked, rinse and repeat." 

"Oh?" He raises his eyebrows again, nodding at the phone. "I think Dirk might have a different definition." 

"...what?" 

"Look, I've hung around hunters before, believe it or not." Karkat frowns, running both hands through his curly hair and making it fluff up worse. _Cute,_ you think, and immediately hope he didn't hear. "Like, pretending to be a human, yeah, but also just going, 'hey, you dumbasses are about to get killed, how about you listen to a demon who actually fucking knows how the things you're hunting think?'"

"If you said that, I can't fucking believe you're still alive." 

"I'm persuasive, shut the fuck up. Plus if you go in and save their asses, even hunters'll cut you some slack, demon or no." 

"Bro wouldn't." 

"I said _hunters._ Not fucking rabid dogs." Karkat rolls his shoulders; the movement's not quite a shrug but you don't know what else to call it. "Hunters, I can reason with, sometimes. Maybe most of the time, if they've got any fucking sense, or if there's a clairvoyant or another demon with the team." 

"Hunters don't work with demons—" 

"And who the fuck told you that?" The tone is sharp; the question is rhetorical. When you look down instead of answering it, Karkat continues, more gently. "Hunters aren't fucking coldblooded killers. Not usually. They _hunt,_ they take out things that're a danger so normal people don't have to know about it. You? You're probably a good hunter. The mindset's there; so's the ability and the technique." 

"Yeah, well, you took me down, so..." The shame from that still hurts, even if it was maybe the best thing that's ever happened to you.

"One, I was pissed. Two, that was the worst fucking scenario you could've been in; it's not exactly your fault if a psycho set you up to get killed." 

_Don't fucking say that._

Karkat pauses in the act of ticking off reasons on his fingers, leaning over to look you in the eyes. "Say what; that he was a psycho? Or that he wanted me to kill you?" 

"Either. Both. I don't want to hear it right now, okay?" 

"Just because I don't say it doesn't make it not true, Dave. But I'll shut up about it for now. Three." Another finger unfolded from his fist. "If you'd had any fucking backup at all, I'd be dead and we wouldn't be having this fucking conversation. Same for if that asshole gave you tech like a decent fucking hunter. It's not like he can't get his hands on a nightvision setup." 

"He hated those fucking things. Called 'em cheating." 

"Well, aren't I lucky he was a fucking idiot, then?" 

"That makes two of us." You say that without even thinking, and regret it for the split second before Karkat laughs and pats your shoulder. 

"It does, doesn't it?" He hops off the stool, grabbing two of the guns and checking the safety. "I wonder if anyone would say anything if we just carried these out, didn't bother to hide them..." 

"Dude, places like this, there's a pretty damn good chance you could walk a hellhound through the parking lot and the only thing that's gonna happen is that somebody looks over and thinks, 'huh, that asshole's lucky there's no cops around to get him for the leash law.'" You grin as Karkat chuckles, and pull your shirt up so you can shove the other gun and the knife unto the waistband of your jeans. Damn, but that's uncomfortable. Good thing you're only walking out to the truck. 

When you look up from smoothing your shirt down, Karkat's standing there watching you with a faint smile. Even though his shirt's more fitted than yours, you can't see the telltale bulge of a weapon under it. _Where the hell did he put the guns?_

"Demon secret. C'mon." And he smiles brightly and steps over to hold the door open for you. 

You _almost_ go around to the passenger side of the truck, just because that's where you're so used to being whether you like it or not. Bro let you drive sometimes, yeah—mostly when he wasn't functional enough to do it himself, or when he had a demon he wanted to interrogate in the backseat. The point is, it wasn't all that frequent of an occurrence, and it takes a voluntary shift of what you're thinking for you to go to the driver's side and open the door. 

"Give me the phone," Karkat says as you stop to extricate the weapons from where they're tucked into the waistband of your jeans. "I'll play navigator; make sure you don't get us stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere." 

"Dude, have a little faith in me, c'mon." The phone goes on the center console where he can get it; the knife and handgun both go in the glovebox, pushed back behind the duct-tape-covered ziplock baggie that Bro keeps cash in. You pull that out, checking the weight, and sigh in relief. _Okay, so I don't have to try and access his accounts for a while..._

"I mean, if we actually ran out of money I'm pretty fucking sure I could do something about it." 

"Don't think you'd have to—he has—he had, shit." There's no verb tense that doesn't sound wrong right now, so you sigh and fix your seatbelt, thinking a different way to talk around it while you start the car. "There's money. Like, more than the couple thou he keeps stashed in here, a lot more. And I _can_ get it, the accounts're set up so you don't need ID to make withdrawal if you know the codes, I just...it feels weird." _Like he'd be pissed if I took his shit._

Karkat's quiet as you back out of the small parking lot, glancing down at the phone and pointing to the left when you look over at him for directions. He doesn't say anything until you're actually on the main highway. 

"It's not his shit anymore, Dave." 

"Yeah, I know. In here at least." You take one hand off the wheel to tap your temple, not taking your eyes off the road. "But see, it's down _here_ that fucks me up." And you touch your stomach, just a little below your ribs. "Like, you can say it's all fine, you can tell me he's gone, I fucking know that shit. Doesn't matter, 'cause the shit he taught me doesn't even connect in my head, it's fucking part of me and I dunno how to make it go away. Fuck, there probably isn't a way to make it go away." 

Shit. Too fucking many words. Plus your eyes are stinging a little now; you're not tearing up yet, but if you don't have enough sense to shut up that might change pretty damn fast.

"Hey." 

_Look, I shouldn't've said any of that in the first place, so how about you pretend I_ didn't _say it?_

"Because you did, and it's not fucking true, and you need to understand that." Even though you don't take your eyes off the road, you can tell he's shifting in his seat, probably crossing his arms. "It's still in your head. All the fucked-up shit he did to you, that changed how you think. It's not your fucking fault, and it'll get better eventually." He touches your arm for just a second, pulling back to his own side before you can even react. "I promise you that, alright?" 

God. 

You have no fucking clue how to react to someone saying something like that. You also don't know if you totally believe him. 

"...yeah. Thanks, man." But believe him or not, he's making an effort to get you to believe you're not a broken piece of shit, which definitely means something. "There's CDs under your seat; you wanna go through them and find us some music?" 

"Yeah, of course." For a second you can almost _feel_ Karkat thinking about saying something else, not letting this shit go even though you asked him to. 

Then he leans down and drags out the book of CDs so he can start flipping through it, and you relax a little bit. 

Karkat doesn't care for most of the music in the collection, which doesn't really surprise you. You defend the selection when he grumbles about it, though. Point of principal. In the end he just turns on the radio and slowly goes through the available stations, pausing long enough on each to get a feel for what they're playing. 

You tune that out. It's not exactly hard; concentrating on driving counts as some kind of hypnosis for you, especially when you're not trying to figure out how to get from point A to point B. You'd say it's pretty damn close to being asleep with your eyes open, except that implies that you're a danger on the road, and you're really not. You're a safe driver, you're just...not all the way present, kind of. 

In a good way. 

Anyway. You zone out and you pretty much stay zoned out, except for the twenty minutes when Karkat talks you into pulling off the highway to get lunch from a fast-food drivethrough. He orders for himself and you, which is nicer than you want to admit; you hate that kind of interaction, and he _does_ know what you want. 

You have no memory of actually eating the hamburger, but you definitely do. The next time you glance at the radio, it's almost five, the sun's starting to get close to the horizon, and you're about three hundred miles closer to your cousin. 

Karkat seems to be able to tell that you're not zoning anymore; he looks up at you, raising his eyebrows. "Do you want me to drive?" 

"Nah. I think we're gonna skip the whole driving at night thing; it's not like Dirk's going anywhere. If I see a hotel in the next ten minutes I'm stopping." 

"And if you don't?" 

"I'm still stopping. Not like I haven't slept in the pickup bed before; there's an air mattress and shit in the backseat for when we had to do that." 

"Fair enough." Silently, he adds, _I can go find somewhere else to sleep, if you're not okay with me being that close to you again._

"Hey, I was okay with it last night, right?" Well, mostly.

"Yeah, until you woke up and almost had a panic attack—" 

"I didn't—" _Okay, yeah, but that isn't going to happen again._

_I mean, if it does at least I'll be expecting it._

"I'm not gonna lose my shit again, Karkat. Besides, there's like a fifty-fifty chance we'll hit a hotel, and it won't even be a problem." 

You do not reach a hotel. 

Instead, you pull into a rest area, park as far away from the entrance as you can, and turn the truck off. The keys go in the cupholder; that's a hell of a lot safer than stashing them in your pocket. Not like anybody can get in to steal them. 

By the time you get your seatbelt undone, Karkat's already out of the truck and digging around in the backseat, easily finding both the air mattress and the two rolled-up sleeping bags and tossing them up in the very back so he can hop up himself. 

After grabbing the battery-powered air pump, you follow him. "Toss Bro's bag out." 

"Uh..." The demon picks it up, but hesitates for a second, and you sigh.

"We need the room, c'mon. I'll pick it up before we leave tomorrow, don't worry." 

"Okay, okay. It's not like I get to say anything about what you do with your own belongings, anyway." A pained look flashes across his face when you wince at that statement. "Dave—"

"Yeah, I know, you're right, technically it's _my_ shit." Hooking up the air pump is a good excuse to not look at him. "But for right now? It's still his. Let it go." 

Thankfully, he does. 

It takes a little maneuvering to get the mattress to lay flat as you air it up; you don't remember it being this tight of a fit last time you did this. Then again, there's a chance Bro had a different truck, since he changes it out every couple years. 

_Past tense. I'm never going to get used to him being past tense, damn._

By the time you get everything settled and Karkat coaxes you into eating a couple granola bars he found somewhere in the truck, it's full dark and you're tired as hell. You drop the empty wrappers somewhere off the mattress, flop back, and sigh when the demon doesn't move from where he's perched on the tailgate. "Karkat." 

"Yes?" 

"Get down here with me, asshole." 

"You sure?" 

_Get your fucking ass down here before I drag you down,_ you think at him, and he snorts. 

"Scoot over a little." 

He slips under the sleeping bag with you, nestling against your back. He's _warm,_ and you don't know if it's because he's a demon or just because you're so very aware that he's there. 

If you weren't uncomfortable with having someone this close to you in the first place, it'd be nice. 

Once you manage to relax and stop thinking so hard about it it's still nice. 

It still takes you a good couple hours to go to sleep, though.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _long_ chapter (6100 words)
> 
> warning for a description of a car accident

You don't panic the next morning. 

To be fair, that may be mostly because Karkat's not cuddled up to you when you wake up. He was there all night, though, and you're pretty sure he hasn't been gone long—even though the air mattress sheds heat faster than a normal bed would, the space where he was is still warm when you roll over into it.

Which is...good. Really good. You relax and pull the sleeping bag over your head to block out the morning light, realizing as you breathe in that Karkat must smell like honeysuckle and...okay, this is the absolute worst thought, but _puppies._ That's a pretty big component of the scent he's left on the blanket; that smell that anybody who's spent time around dogs too young to get bathed knows, warm and neither pleasant nor unpleasant, at least not to you. And with the sweeter and almost floral scent layered on top of it, you kind of wish the result wasn't so damn faint. 

"Jesus fuck, Dave, do you ever think about _anything_ normal?" Karkat sounds somewhere between confused and exasperated, and you uncover your face just in time to have a clean shirt and a fresh pair of jeans fall on it, blinding you again. "I didn't need to know I smell like a fucking puppy, okay?" 

_Oh, god, he heard all of that. Kill me now._ "Why the hell did you have to listen?" 

"It's not my fault all your mental blocks go down when you're half asleep!" 

"A _gentleman_ would stop listening when he realized it counted as spying, asshole." You huff, yanking the sleeping bag back over your head so you can start the slightly-complicated process of getting dressed without either getting up or having skin show. It probably looks weird as fuck to anyone watching. 

Sure enough, Karkat's laughing as you struggle into your shirt, little half-muffled snorts that make your heart reconsider the proper cadence of your pulse. You can't even _see_ him right now, and you're still smiling like a lovestruck idiot. 

_Lovestruck._ Your smile fades as you get your pants on. _Love. Do I—no. Fuck, no. I can't. I can't, he'll—_

"Hey." The blanket over your head is pulled back, and you blink up at Karkat, who's leaning over you with a concerned expression that's rapidly becoming very familiar. "There's no 'he.' He's gone. It's okay." 

"Who—fuck." Get that damn tremor out of your voice and try again. "Who said I wasn't okay?" 

It's a little bit difficult not to flinch when his hand comes down toward you—you're in such a vulnerable position, flat on your back and tangled up in blankets and the clothes you just changed out of. This is very nearly a textbook example of what to never do around a demon, around anyone or anything dangerous...

All he does is smooth your hair back from your face. 

"You're still not all the way awake." When Karkat takes his hand away, you realize you were leaning into his touch. "Which means you don't have to say shit for me to know it. I think I could've told you weren't okay anyway, though—it was pretty fucking obvious." 

"I—" What? What, exactly? What the fuck are you going to say to him? 

He saves you from having to figure that out by shrugging and interrupting you. "There's more granola bars on the driver's seat, plus a thing of crackers. It's a shitty breakfast, but we can stop somewhere and get you more later." 

"Eh, I can run on what we got." 

"Like fuck you can. Eat what there is while I pack this shit up, and we're stopping to get you more food later." He crosses his arms and scowls, and you make the decision to not start another argument right now. 

Instead, you grab your clothes and hop down off the tailgate, going around to sit in the driver's seat and examine what Karkat's left there for you. It's kind of funny, actually—you kind of remember hiding these. It was a good six months ago, but Bro was going through one of his periodic phases where he pretty much left you to fend for yourself and sabotaged you every way he could. Acquiring and stashing nonperishable food items was the only thing you could do about it, and you guess there were some left that you never had to eat. 

_Pretty fucking impressive that Karkat managed to find them when Bro couldn't, though..._

"Thanks. Remember that I'm more perceptive than that asshole, though." The demon opens the door to toss the neatly-rolled-up sleeping bags and air mattress in the back seat, then slams it again and comes up to your open window, grinning at you. "Do you want me to drive, or are you good?" 

"I'm good." You shove the empty wrappers in your pocket. _It's a shitty reason to want to be the one to drive, but that puts me in control of something. Feels better._

"Hey, I wouldn't call that shitty." 

"Look, just 'cause you can hear me thinking doesn't mean you gotta respond to it." 

"No, but sometimes you think things that come across as fucking stupid, and I have to clue you in that they _are_ fucking stupid." Karkat snorts and steps away from the window; you retrieve the keys as he walks around to the passenger side. As soon as he's in you start the truck, and he nods. "We've got two more days of driving. Or one, if you want me to pull an all-nighter, or three, if you want to take it slow. Your choice." 

"It's too early to make choices, man." 

Another snort, this one suspiciously close to being a laugh as he picks up the phone. "Fair enough. But I'm still going to make you choose somewhere to stop for breakfast." 

"Oh, fuck you." But you grin and shove back at him when he shoves at your shoulder. 

You still refuse to actually choose, just to annoy him. Karkat talks you into stopping at the second McDonald's you pass, though, and he orders for you again. This time you eat before you let yourself zone out. 

Three hours later, Karkat stops playing with the radio and goes perfectly still in his seat, and you drag your attention off the road and back to him. His face is perfectly blank, giving you absolutely no clue what's going on, but you can see too-sharp teeth in his half-open mouth, and unless you're imagining shit his skin's gone whiter and his hair darker. Closer to how he looked when he killed Bro; closer to fully, obviously demon. 

"Karkat, what—" 

His attention snaps onto you as soon as you speak, and you can't help but flinch and look back at the road. He's so fucking intense right now that having him look at you is like catching on fire. 

"Pull over," he growls. And it really is a growl; deep, rough, and terrifying in a way that cuts through the logical part of your brain to the base programming, the leftover instincts from when humans were prey animals. It's a reminder that to his kind you might as well _still_ be prey. 

"But—" 

"Fucking pull over! _Now_ , Dave, fuck, pull the fuck over!" When he slams his hand against the glove compartment, you almost drive straight into the ditch. "Stop the car, stop the _fucking_ car, stop—" 

"I am, I swear, ju—just give me—give me a sec, I swear—" Shit. You can't finish talking. Karkat stops shouting, though, unclipping his seatbelt and continuing to growl as you manage to pull over onto the shoulder. 

Before you can even get the gearshift into park, he's got the door open and he's gone, dashing across the road without even bothering to check for oncoming traffic. By the time you manage to get out of the truck, he's vaulted the median barrier. 

"Karkat!" The demon might not even hear you. He sure as hell doesn't turn around. _Shit._ You pop open the glovebox, grab the first gun your hand touches, and shove it into the back of your waistband as you follow him. 

You're climbing over the median when you actually figure out where he's heading, and you very nearly faceplant on the asphalt. It's a double dose of shit you're terrified of: a cop car with lights flashing but the siren silent, pulled over on the shoulder because some poor asshole's gone off the road and flipped their car. This one's as bad as any accident you've seen, too—the whole side of the car's crumpled, and the cop's kneeling on the ground next to a person so bloodied that you can't make any judgements on their gender or age. 

_Oh fuck no. I'm not fucking going over there. I don't want to see it, I can't see it, I can't—_

That's what you're thinking, but you're still moving towards the wrecked car instead of away. Because that's where Karkat is. 

By the time you get close enough to hear what's going on, the cop's on his feet with his hand uncomfortably close to his gun. Since he's got Karkat a few feet away from him, snarling like an animal, you don't totally blame him. _Karkat, what the fuck are you doing—_

He looks at you and whines, red eyes so wide they seem to take up half his face again, and you get a blast of anxiety and empathetic pain from him that makes you stagger back almost into the road. There's no words in the thought you catch from him, but you get what he needs anyway. 

"Sir, I'm going to need you to step back—" The cop's talking to Karkat, but his eyes flick over to you. Good. You want his attention, although depending on how fast he can move that might mean you're about to get shot. 

"Nah." You reach back and pull your gun, leveling it at him. Never mind that your mind's listing all the reasons this is a fucking horrible idea. "Hands up, buddy. Take a step back." 

_Don't shoot him, Dave._

_The fucking safety's still on, man—nobody's getting shot here._ Well, unless you fuck up. Then _you're_ probably going to get shot. "Get your gun. Slow, 'cause if you point that fucker at me you're _definitely_ going to the hospital." Bluff. The cop still does as you tell him, though, keeping his hand on the outside of the trigger guard and his eyes locked on yours. "Check the safety and throw it across the highway." 

Once he's done that, you risk looking over at Karkat. If the cop jumps you now, you can probably take him. "Karkat?" 

He's crouching next to the car, yanking at the door. Even from here you can tell that it's jammed, but you're not going to bet against his ability to get it open. Metal's already bending and warping further; the tradeoff is that he's even more obviously demon than he was before. _Fuck._

"Go sit by your car," you tell the cop, lowering your gun. "Hell, sit in it for all I care. Call for backup if you want, just leave us alone for a couple fucking minutes." 

"There's two kids in there," he says, and you barely manage to cover up the fact that that bit of information makes you want to freeze up and not listen to anything else. 

"He'll get them out." And you jerk your head at Karkat, who's just jerked the car door not just open but completely off, dropping it on the floor and leaning into the interior. 

"There's an ambulance on his way, you should wait for people who know what they're doing—" 

"You know what? Fuck off. Have a little fucking faith and cooperate. Or don't. I don't give a shit." And you shove the gun back into the waistband of your jeans and turn to Karkat. _What the fuck are you doing, man?_

_Fixing shit. Be quiet, Dave, I need to concentrate._ The demon's kneeling next to the first person you saw; it's a woman, you see as you get closer, a young-ish woman with the side of her face so lacerated you can't bear to look at it. _Try and calm those kids down?_

"I can't talk to kids, man, c'mon," you mumble. But you still step over to the two toddlers who're sitting right where Karkat set them, the smaller one bawling and the bigger one just staring at his mom. 

The bigger kid—he's maybe five years old—is the one you scoop up in your arms first. He doesn't struggle as you lift him up enough to get a look at his eyes, which is good, because you don't know enough about holding kids to be sure of not dropping him if he did. There's blood running out of his nose like the tears that his younger sibling is currently covered in, but his pupils look okay, and there's no other marks on him. 

Not that that means he's okay. Even if he's not hurt, the poor guy's got to be at least a little fucked in the head right now.

You settle him on your hip and gently push his head to where he isn't looking at his mom, wincing as he decides to bury his bloody face in your chest. There goes another shirt. 

The cop's still standing right where you left him; you look over at him and point at the crying kid. Thankfully, he gets the point without you having to say anything. 

You make sure to stay between the cop and Karkat, though. Once the former has his hands full with wailing toddler, you look down at the latter. "How bad is she?" 

"Worse than you were." His voice is still a growl, and he looks more demon than ever. You're very careful to not look at how his hands are slowly stroking across the woman's bloody throat. "Not as bad as the guy in the car." 

"There's another one?" 

"Yeah. Leave him. You can't help him, _I_ can't help him, he's gone." _Let the humans deal with their dead. If I don't talk her blood into staying where it belongs, there'll be two corpses when they get here instead of one._ He raises one hand to shove dark red curls back from his face. 

The blood shows up dark against his white skin and blends seamlessly into his hair. Your stomach lurches.

_I'm going to throw up. I'm going to pass out. I'll wake up and I'll be in jail, for some fucking reason, I know there's a reason they could arrest me—_

Except you can't pass out, because you're still holding a five-year-old with a bloody nose, who just saw his mom almost die. Dropping him wouldn't be fair. 

Closing your eyes doesn't really help, but you do it anyway. Hugging the kid closer to your chest helps a little bit, even if it gets you started thinking about how the wet patch soaking into your shirt is blood. A _kid's_ blood. 

_Jesus fuck._

"I'll be done in a minute, I swear," Karkat murmurs absently, still not looking up at you. 

"You keep her alive, I'll wait as long as I gotta." If you get any dizzier, you're going to have to hand the kid off to the cop. 

_Thank you_ , he says in your head, and you feel him push at your mind just a little. For a second it hurts. Then the sick sensation fades away a bit, leaving a calm that you can tell isn't natural. 

Natural or not, it lets you stand there and wait and shush the kid you're holding when he does actually start to cry. You don't think about anything. 

After some length of time that you can't measure at all, Karkat sits back on his heels and wipes his hands on his already-filthy shirt. You hand off the kid to the cop and offer the demon a hand up. 

Surprisingly, he takes it, and lets you pull him to his feet. You have to steady him as he staggers. "Hey. You okay?" 

"We need to go." That isn't a fucking answer, but the way he leans on you might as well be. "I can't pass for human right now, we need to be gone before anyone gets here..." 

"Yeah. I know, man, I know." Thank god that there's not much traffic, because you're taking most of his weight as you head back toward your truck. _God, how am I going to get him over the barrier?_

"I'll make it over," he mumbles, and immediately stumbles over something, almost falling despite your support. You're in the middle of the road, struggling to get him on his feet again, and you can't stop thinking about what'll happen if another car comes along. 

A car door slams. A second after that the cop's on Karkat's other side, taking his arm and hauling him upright. 

Karkat glances up at him for a second, then just lets his head fall forward. "Make sure she gets a transfusion." 

"Can do." 

That's all he says, all any of you say. The cop helps you haul Karkat over the median barrier, gets him into the truck when you can't do the lifting yourself, and shuts the door. He doesn't even look at you as you get the truck started and pull out onto the road again.

You're grateful for that. 

There's absolutely no chance of you being able to zone out, though. You're too fucking worried about Karkat, who isn't moving at all. He's conscious, you think; if you glance over at him you can see a sliver of dark red under his eyelids. 

When you've passed a dozen or so mile markers, you take one hand off the steering wheel and lean over to touch his shoulder. "Karkat?"

"I'm here." He only sounds half-awake, though, and although he jerks his head in your direction he doesn't raise it. "...for a little bit longer. Shit kicks my fucking ass, Dave..." 

_Fuck. If he's dying—_

"Calm down. Gonna sleep, okay?" The demon's hand moves up and finds yours, patting you gently. "Stop somewhere 'n get food. When I wake up, I'll need it." 

"Food. Okay. Anything else?" 

Karkat doesn't answer for a moment. When his hand slips off yours, you look back over at him and see that his eyes are all the way shut now, his head rolled to one side.

He's out. 

Despite the pure fear that shivers through you at seeing him still, with blood on his face, you don't try to wake him. 

Half an hour later you pull over on the side of the road and change into a shirt that doesn't have a bloodstain on it. Your clothes don't fit Karkat, you're too fucking skinny for that, so you wrestle him out of his bloody shirt and into one of Bro's. It doesn't fit either, but on the too-large side rather than the too-small. A clean corner of your shirt and half a bottle of water takes care of the blood on his face and hands. 

He stays limp through all of that, even the cold water on his face. Your fear is getting worse, even though you tell yourself that it's baseless right now. 

Two more hours, and you finally admit that you're not safe to be on the road. Every car that passes you, you jerk and barely catch yourself before you pull the wheel too far over. Either you stop soon, or you're going to get both yourself and Karkat killed. 

You pull into the first fast food place you see—Taco Bell—and tell the person who asks for your order that you want five of everything on the dollar menu. She makes you repeat that twice, either because your voice is so fucking shaky she can't understand it, or because she can't believe you didn't misspeak. 

The why doesn't matter. By the time she tells you to go ahead and pull forward, you're a shaking, almost sobbing mess. 

Thankfully, an order that large takes them a couple minutes to get together. You spend that time with your forehead pressed against the steering wheel, gripping Karkat's hand tighter than you'd dare to if he was awake and taking deep, forcedly even breaths. 

The phone rings while you're waiting. 

You can't bring yourself to even look at it. After a while, it stops. 

Almost as soon as it does, a guy with a slightly confused expression is handing you a series of food-heavy paper bags. When you hand him the money he very visibly relaxes; you guess that he wasn't a hundred percent sure this wasn't some kind of prank.

He turns to get your change, and you're out of the parking lot before he turns around again. _Fuck the change,_ you think. 

You wince when Karkat doesn't react to that at all. It's amazingly easy to get used to the intimacy of telepathy, isn't it? 

It's twenty-something more miles before you hit a rest area. Further than you really wanted to drive, but there's no way you can handle checking into one of the hotels you pass. They'd call the cops on you as soon as you walked in; shaky, obviously upset teens who can't even look someone in the eyes are at the top of the fucking list of people who trip suspicion switches. You know that, and you fucking hate yourself for not being able to turn off your physical signs of stress and anxiety. 

At least you manage to keep the truck on the road and in your lane. Even when the phone rings again. 

You _still_ don't answer it, although this time you rationalise that decision with the thought that it'd be outright dangerous to talk and drive right now. Plus, it'd totally get you pulled over if you had the bad luck to have a cop pass you. This is the right decision. This isn't you being a coward. 

_Fuck but I'm so bad at lying to myself._

There's a very badly placed trash can at the rest area, and you come pretty damn close to hitting it. Thank god that you don't. Once you get pulled off to the side, you turn the ignition off, drop the keys in the cupholder, and lean over to put a hand on Karkat's shoulder. 

"Hey, man. Karkat. Hey." _Come on. Wake up._ You're very careful to be gentle as you shake him. Don't hurt him. Don't fucking do that. _Fuck, Karkat, please..._ "Karkat?" 

There's absolutely no response. Yeah, he moves, but only because _you_ move him, and the way his head rolls to first one side and then the other as you shake him makes you stop doing that. 

Karkat looks dead. 

You lay your hand on his chest and feel it rising and falling with his breath. _He isn't dead. Don't be a dumbass._

"If he was awake he'd ask me why I just called myself a dumbass." Your voice sounds weird even at the almost-nonexistent volume you're keeping it at. _Okay. No more talking to myself. When he wakes up I can talk._

_He might be out for a while, though. Need to get shit set up to spend the night._

Okay. That, you can handle. 

There's no way you're going to be able to lift Karkat into the back of the pickup. Getting him out of the truck at all is going to be tough, really, but you'll cross that fucking bridge when you come to it. A couple minutes of hunting through the backseat turns up exactly what you need: one stupid lil' tent that you're fairly sure hasn't even been out of its bag. Thankfully, that means that the instructions on how to set it up are in there with it, because without those you'd have a much longer and more frustrating setup ahead of you. 

Even with the instructions it takes you twenty minutes, and you're almost sobbing again by the time you finish. You unroll the sleeping bags, spread them out in the tent, and go back to get Karkat. 

He's heavy. He's very fucking heavy, or at least it seems to you like he is. Some of the difficulty might be due to the fact that he's not exactly helping, but still. This shit makes you feel useless as fuck. But hey, at least those feelings of inadequacy have the added effect of forcing you to grit your teeth and do what you need to do. 

_God, my back's gonna hurt tomorrow,_ you think almost ruefully as you carry the demon's limp form to the tent and lay him down in the nest of blankets. 

You want to lie down next to him, curl up and stop thinking so you can stop worrying. Instead, you go back to shut the truck's door—and grab the phone, since you do need to see who the fuck keeps trying to call you. _In a minute. I'll do that in a minute. Once I'm down there with him._

(Again, you're shit at lying to yourself. You're not going to check the damn phone tonight, and you know it.) 

Of course, the fucking thing rings again while you're trying to figure out how to settle next to Karkat, so you don't have a choice. You wrap one arm around him, grab the phone with your other hand, and swipe to answer the incoming call. "Yo." 

" _Dave?_ " Well, its not Dirk. You recognize this voice, you really do, but all your mind's coughing up right now are simple observations instead of a name: it's feminine, she's at least concerned and maybe downright worried, she knows who you are. " _Are you all right? I called Jake for a reading after you didn't answer the second time; what he came up with was worrying to say the least—_

Okay, you do know exactly who this is. She stood in front of Bro when she was ten years old, arms crossed and face set in stern disapproval, and said those exact words. That his methods of hunting were _worrying to say the least._ (And you tried not to flinch when she said it and wondered if you'd have to step in between him and her.) 

"... Rose?" 

" _Hmm. I'm happy you remember me, since I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself._ " You can imagine the quick, self-deprecating smile that flashes across her face. " _Apologies. To repeat my question, are you all right?_ " 

That's a very fucking hard question. "I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm okay." You really wish you didn't sound like you were trying to convince yourself. 

" _Dave, Jake told me the cards he drew for you and your companion. His interpretation was lighter than mine, but we both agreed that 'death,' 'danger,' and 'distress' were present in the spread._ " 

Explain this shit to her. Come on. Do it. 

You pull Karkat half onto your lap and switch sides with the phone, running your fingers through his hair. Smoothing out the tangles is doing you more good than it is him, probably. "There. There was an accident." 

" _A car accident?_ " 

"Y-yeah." 

" _Gods, Dave, are you all right? How bad—_ " 

"No, fuck, not like that. We weren't—I wasn't in the accident." You're going to freeze up, thinking about it. The fucking _blood._

" _I don't quite understand._ " 

You take a deep breath and look down at Karkat, focusing on how his face looks peaceful instead of how he's not moving. _He's asleep,_ you tell yourself. _You have to do the fucking talking, you're the one who has to explain to Rose. You can have a meltdown_ after _you do that._

" _Dave?_ " 

"I'm still here, yeah. We, uh." _Breathe. Tell her. Don't tell her he's a demon, but explain what happened._ "The guy with me, he saw—there was a car crash. We st—we stopped, okay, he's g-got some magic, healing shit—" 

" _I didn't know demons had that._ " 

Your stomach ties itself in a terrified knot, and you open and close your mouth a couple times before you manage to say anything. "He's not a demon—" 

" _Karkat?_ " 

"Yeah, but he's not—"

" _Dave, it's alright. He told Dirk he was. We already know that._ " Rose's tone is reassuring, but all you feel is sick fear. 

_I'm taking him to be killed. I'm leading him straight to more hunters, hunters that aren't whatever the fuck I am, and his cover's already blown._

You can't _breathe._

" _Dave? Dave, are you still there?_ " 

"No." Damn your instinctive responses. 

" _You said Karkat had healing magic. Did he use it? Is that what's wrong? I mean, I can't imagine why that'd make you so upset—_ " 

"He used it, and he's fu-fucking _asleep,_ and nothing I can do wakes him up." _But then again, you're a hunter, like I should be. You'd want him to die, wouldn't you?_

" _Ah._ " There's a muffled sound that you recognise as Rose covering the mic on her phone with her hand, and maybe half a minute of even more muffled speaking. Two voices, hers and someone else's. Then, " _All right. Is he breathing?_ " 

Your arm's across his chest; you don't have to move to check the answer. "Yeah." 

" _That's good. Has his body cooled noticeably?_ " 

He's still warmer than you are, so... "Not that I can t-tell." Damn your fucking stutter. 

" _Kanaya said you'd be able to tell, if his temperature started to drop. Unless he's clammy, that's all right._ " She sighs, an almost staticky noise through the speaker you have pressed against your ear. " _He'll wake up, Dave. He'll be hungry when he does—_ " 

"He told me that." 

" _Good; I assume that means you planned accordingly. Give him a while. Healing of any kind is an enormous expenditure of energy; it can take time to recover from, even for a demon._ " 

Goddamnit. The reminder that she knows about Karkat's nature is like a kick to the ribs. "He's not a f-fucking demon." If only the tremor in your voice didn't point out your blatant lie. 

" _It'd be a pity if he really wasn't; John's quite excited to meet him._ " 

_Shit._ "If he hurts Karkat I'll—" What? You'll what? Kill a hunter, kill the guy who was your best friend back when Bro let you have friends? Would you do that? _Could_ you do that? 

" _Dave, please._ " That almost-pitying note of reassurance is back in her voice, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep back a sob. You don't deserve that shit from her. " _No one wants to hurt Karkat, I promise you. If I thought there was a chance Dirk or John or Jake would be a danger to him or you, I'd fly down there and intercept you before you reached them._ " 

"He's a demon." _Fuck. That's the exact opposite of the point I should be proving._ "They'll kill him if they know that, Rose, they—" 

" _That isn't how things are, Dave._ " Gentle. So gentle. Like she's explaining something to a little kid, and _now_ you are definitely and inescapably crying, even if you can almost keep it quiet. " _Not for us. We don't kill demons and cryptids for no reason. If he's killed someone, perhaps—_ " 

You can't fucking help it. You close your eyes and give up on stifling the painful, full-out sobs, because he _did_ kill someone. You know he did. You watched him. And you can't fucking lie, you know you can't lie—if any of the hunters ask, they'll know the truth more or less immediately. 

_I'm going to get him killed._ You shake your head and tighten your grip on him. _If he doesn't die here, he will later, and it'll be my fault..._

" _Dave, please, talk to me, tell me what's wrong—_ " 

Oh. Yeah. Rose is still on the line, getting further into worry by the sound of it. You switch ears with the phone again, swallow back a sob, and start talking without letting yourself think about what you're saying. 

(Which is, admittedly, a stupid fucking move.) 

"See, he's fu-fucking dead, then, and 'm dead too 'cause I ca—I can't let him go down without a fight." 

" _What?_ " 

"He did kill someone." Your voice steadies again, maybe because you've slid down so you're lying on your back with Karkat pulled half on top of you and your arm slung across his shoulders. "Saw him do it." 

There's a noticeable pause before Rose responds. When she does she sounds surprisingly calm, although there's a good chance that's deceptive. " _Who, and why?_ " 

"Bro." Deep breath. Tell her. "And because I asked him to." 

Silence. You can hear your pulse beating in your ears and nothing else. Before she speaks again you count fifty heartbeats, enough that you wonder if she hung up on you. 

" _...I can't say I'm surprised._ " She _still_ sounds calm. How the hell is she doing that? " _Would you like to know something, Dave?_ " 

"I—what?"

" _The first thing I intend to do when I see your Karkat—and I do plan to see him; you're going to have to stay with Dirk long enough for me to make a trip down there—the first thing I plan to say to him is thank you. That seems horrible if you look at it without context, doesn't it? This demon killed one of my blood relatives, and I'm going to thank him for it._

" _It isn't horrible, though. Or if it is, it's decidedly less horrible than the man himself was. I knew him, Dave, and so did Dirk. I'm going to guess that we didn't know the worst version of him—you may have, but he tailored his behavior to seem somewhat presentable for us—but what I knew of him was bad enough that I_ won't _grieve him, and I_ will _thank Karkat for killing him._

" _Dave, are you still there?_ " 

You barely manage to choke out a "Yes." That's how hard you're crying. 

" _The moment Karkat chose to protect and care for you, he became family, demon or no. You should know that._ " 

"I—I d-do now." You sniffle and realize that she had to hear you do it. _Fuck._ "R-rose? Rose." 

" _Yes?_ " 

"Thank y-you." 

" _I just wish Dirk had thought to clarify this matter. You shouldn't have had to be afraid for Karkat._ " 

"Not—it's not his fault." 

" _I suppose that's true._ " She sighs again, and you know she's shaking her head with a small smile. " _I'll still be scolding him as soon as this call's over._ " 

"Be nice."

" _Don't worry, I won't be too harsh. Just a reminder that most people can't read minds, is all._ " That sentence tenses you up for just a second, but then you remind yourself that there's no way she could know about the weird shit you and Karkat have. " _Would you like to talk for a while longer, or would you prefer to be alone with Karkat?_ "

"Uh. I can't talk, Rose, not right now, I'm sorry—"

" _Dave, it's all right. I'll call sometime tomorrow. Love you._ " 

"Love you too." You say it without hesitation this time. 

A moment later the phone beeps, and she's gone. 

You set the phone down out of harms way and wrap your arms around Karkat, pulling him closer. He's still limp and unresponsive—and you really hate that—but Rose said he'd be okay. She said he'd wake up. 

This'll be okay. 

You curl up close to him and close your eyes. 

Even as worried as you are, it's easy to fall asleep this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which the author has no conception of time


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for violence in the first half of this chapter

_This is a dream._

You know that.

You're aware that you're not really kissing her, her hands aren't on your waist and yours aren't on her shoulders. She's not giggling at you because your shades just smashed awkwardly into her round glasses and you're not trying to keep down a grin because it'll mess up the kiss. You're not really twelve years old, testing out a new experience with a friend just because you can and she wants to as much as you do.

It still feels real enough to be pleasant, even if you're one hundred percent aware that you're just reliving it through a dream; this one's more vivid, more _real,_ than this kind of thing should be. You can feel her shaking with pent-up laughter—this isn't her first kiss even if it is yours; she knows that you don't have a fucking clue what you're doing—taste bruised mint in her mouth. It's good. It feels real, and it doesn't feel real at all, but it feels amazing. 

_This is a good dream,_ you think hazily, still caught up in the happening-right-now memory of soft lips on yours. 

Then the door behind you slams open, and before you can even pull back from her, Bro's hand winds into the back of your shirt and jerks you back from her. Just like the kissing seemed real, so does the burn of your shirt getting yanked up around your neck, not quite strangling you. 

_Yet._

He doesn't say a word, and when you try to say something—anything that'll mollify him at least a little—he twists his hand up in your collar, tightening it around your throat. His other hand grips a handful of your hair, pulling you mostly to your feet so he can fucking drag you out. 

_Shit. Shit. It's going to be bad. It's going to be so bad._ You know that and you don't question why you know it; at some point, you forgot that this is a dream. As far as you're concerned, it's real right now. 

"Bro—" 

"Shut it," he growls quietly, letting go of your hair for just a second to shut the door behind himself. You can't stop yourself from gasping in relief, then whimpering again when his hand comes back up to get ahold of your hair again. "The fuck did you think you were doing?" 

He lets go of your shirt as he asks the question, spinning you around and shoving you up against the wall. There's tears that you don't dare let fall in your eyes, both from him strangling you with your shirt and the fact that he's yanking you around by the hair. You're sure that you'll find blood at the white roots later, with how hard he's pulling. 

"I didn't—" 

His forearm slams down on your throat and cuts off every bit of air. You don't dare struggle against him, but you can't _breathe._ "Like hell you didn't! You know I'm not fuckin' blind, lil' man—you calling me an idiot?" 

He eases up enough for you to speak. "No—Bro—" 

But that's as far as he lets you get. Yes, he moves and his arm's abruptly not on your throat, but since he slams his fist into your diaphragm hard enough to make you cough and retch at the sick pain anyway, it's not a good tradeoff. "What, then? You sayin' you _weren't_ making out with her? Is that what you're saying?" 

Two more blows, one for emphasis and one at the end of the sentence. You can taste blood, but you know that it's just from where you bit your tongue. 

"I'm sorry—" 

He hits you again for that, an openhanded slap across your face that leaves you seeing stars. It hurts a little less than the punches to your stomach. "Fuck your sorry. What are you?" 

"I—I—" _I don't know what you want!_ That's what you want to tell him. His arm presses against your windpipe before you can say anything. 

"You're a fucking hunter." His face is only a few inches from yours and his shades are crooked; you can see the gleam of amber eyes as he snarls out the words. "That shit's nothing but a distraction for you, do you hear me, Dave? You're a hunter—you stay away from girls, you stay away from guys, you stay away from everyone but _me,_ do you hear me?" This time he yanks upward on your hair for emphasis, and you try to yelp despite the pressure on your throat. That just makes him bear down harder, cutting off even the little bit of air you were managing to get. "Disobey me again and you'll wish you'd never been born, lil' man, are we fuckin' clear here?" 

He _finally_ lets up enough for you to gasp and cough and force out a shaky, "Y-yes, Bro." 

For whatever reason, that answer makes his brow furrow, and you know, you _know_ that you fucked this up worse than it already was, he isn't done, he's going to—

_Enough. Enough, Dave._

It's a thought, and you're not the one thinking it. 

_Yeah. Exactly. Wake up. Open your eyes and look at me._

Your eyes _are_ open. You're staring at Bro. 

Wait. 

You close your eyes. _This is a dream,_ you think. And then you open your eyes, your actual eyes, the ones attached to your body instead of being a fucking construct of your fucked-up mind, and see a demon blinking slowly at you. 

"Hey," Karkat says. One of his arms is wrapped around your shoulders, his hand rubbing lazy patterns into your back; the other's tangled in your hair, petting you like some kind of fucking cat. "That was a fucking _awful_ dream." 

"...yeah." Holy shit. You've got your arms wrapped around Karkat, lying on his chest like he's some kind of amazing living mattress, one leg hooked around his. You've _never_ been this close to someone, not even Bro on the bad nights. His pulse beats through every contact you have with him, and it's making you dizzy. Well, _something's_ making you dizzy. 

_I should get up,_ you think, but you've never been less sure of something in your life. 

"You should stay right where you are," Karkat mumbles, letting his head fall back. "Unless you can come up with an actual fucking reason to move..." 

"Can't think of anything." You drop your face onto his chest and breathe in, trying for a little more calm and somehow finding it despite the thoughts chasing each other through your head. _The reason is that Bro would kill me for this..._

"I believe that, unfortunately," he mumbles. You can feel his desire to tighten his grip on you, pull you further into his sphere of protection. If he does that, you _will_ panic and pull away, and he must know that, because what he actually does is huff out a sigh and keep finger-combing your hair. "How many times did he do that to you?" 

"Just once, for that..." _I should shut up._ Instead, you roll your head towards his hand and keep talking. "He had...a lot of lessons like that for me. Didn't usually have to go over them more than once; couple cracked ribs're a really fucking good motivator to not make him wanna give me a refresher course." 

"Fuck, Dave." 

"Yeah. The kissing, it was—it was nice, but it wasn't worth that shit." _Plus it was only about a year after that that he took off and left with me. Didn't have anybody to try anything with, after that._

"I'm sorry." 

"Wish you weren't." Your mouth's on autopilot. Somehow you can't muster up enough energy to give a shit. _If you're looking for answers about me, I guess you're gonna get them._

(Karkat heard that. You know he did; you saw his head tilt as he listened in.) 

"Why?" is all he asks. 

"Why?" 

"Why do you wish I wasn't sorry?" 

"It's not—you shouldn't—" The words tangle in your mouth, and you shake your head—not enough to dislodge his hand—and think at him instead. _It'd be better if you didn't know. Can't be sorry for me if you don't know about that shit.._

"I can't try to help you think around it instead of straight through it if I don't know about it, either." He shifts, the arm that was wrapped around you moving to prop his head up so he can look at you without having to strain so much. 

For a moment you stay how you are, with your face against his chest, feeling his pulse even through his shirt. Then, when it becomes obvious that he's not going to say anything else until you look at him, you sigh and raise your head, folding one arm under your chin for support. "And you think you want to help me _why,_ exactly?" 

Karkat makes a sound deep in his chest, a soft vibration that's somewhere between a hum and a growl and feels different from either. "You put that like I don't really want to help you." 

"Do you?" _Fuck. Putting it like that makes it sound like I don't trust him._ And you do trust him, or at least you trust him more than you can trust anyone else. Which is _stupid,_ you've known him for three fucking days and he's a goddamn demon—

"Fuck yes I want to help you." Karkat's hand moves from your hair to the side of your face, fingers slowly brushing down from your temple to your cheek. "You asked me to, remember?" 

_Yeah. Almost forgot I owe you for that, too._

"Yesterday takes some of the debt away, though." He blinks, and you can't help but smile as that makes the patterns in his eyes break apart and reform, giving you a whole new microcosm to get lost in. "I got myself into a situation—not that I could fucking help it—and you did a fucking _amazing_ job of getting us both clear of it, even if you were scared out of your mind." 

"Was not," you protest reflexively, and the fact that he snorts out a chuckle surprises you. 

"Yeah you were. I could feel it. I thought I was going to have to try to wake up, that's how bad it was." You can feel him shrug. "I don't fucking know if I _could_ have woken up, but you were...really fucking scared." 

"Shit." You shake your head—this time Karkat's hand _does_ slip away, and you want to curse yourself—and look down, away from his face. "Sorry." 

"Why?" He puts his hand under your chin— _too close to my throat,_ you think, and at the same moment think, _there's no way he'll hurt me_ —gently pulling you back up to meet his eyes. "Because you give a fuck about whether I'm okay or not? Are you really about to apologize for that?" 

"No. For—I panicked, man, I should be able to not fucking lose it." 

Another snort, and he rolls his eyes. "Your definition of 'losing it' and mine are very fucking different." You open your mouth to argue; he lays a finger across your lips. " _Shush_ and listen to me. You did everything you needed to do. You didn't know what was happening—which is my fucking fault, I should have had enough sense to clue you in on how my powers work a little better—and you kept functioning anyway. I know a hell of a lot of people who can't do that shit, Dave." 

"I still panicked." 

"Yeah, and that sucked. But it doesn't change the fact that because of you we're on the way to see your hunters, instead of in jail somewhere." 

"...I guess." When you go to press your face against Karkat's chest again, he lets you do it. _Fuck, wait. I'm an idiot._ "Didn't you tell me you were going to be hungry?" 

"Oh, I am. But I don't know when the next time you'll lay down with me like this is going to be." He is fucking _smirking_ when you look up at him again. "I wasn't going to tell you to get up and—" 

"You smooth fucking idiot." You swat at his shoulder and roll off his chest, leaning over to unzip the tent's door. "There's food in the truck, c'mon." _And if you really want me to keep using you as a mattress, I think I'd be more than okay with doing that._

He's tilting his head. You don't have to look to know that. 

"...Dave." 

"Yeah?" The fucking zipper is stuck. 

"Be sure and tell me if you end up being not okay with me being your mattress." He lets you mess with the thing for a second, then nudges your hands aside and gets it loose himself, sitting back so you can exit first. "I think I'd be able to tell, but let me know if I don't back the fuck down when you need me to." 

"Yeah." The bags of food are in the backseat of the truck; you lean in and grab two at random, turning to hand them to Karkat. _Dunno if I could kick somebody out of bed with me, but you'll know if I want to, deal?_

You don't miss his wince as he catches that thought from you, but he sure as hell doesn't hesitate in taking the bags and reaching into one. "Deal." 

"Cool. There's more food if you eat all that—" You really don't think he will. "—and I'm gonna pack up. Unless I'm misreading the damn map, we should get to Dirk's place in maybe four or five hours." 

Karkat's mouth is already full of what seems to be half a burrito, but he frees up one hand to give you a thumbs-up. 

It takes you maybe five minutes to roll up and secure the sleeping bags, another five to get the tent disassembled, and _fifteen_ to get the goddamn thing rolled small enough to fit back in the bag. You're muttering imprecations against whoever the fuck designed this stupid thing by the time you finally get the bag zipped and scoop everything up to drop it in the backseat. You have to move the one remaining half-full Taco Bell bag aside to do it—evidently you were wrong about how much Karkat was going to eat. 

Speaking of Karkat. 

He's in the front passenger seat with the door still open and his seat reclined halfway. Again, he looks asleep, but when you touch his shoulder his eyes open. "Eat something, Dave."

"Bossy." 

"Hell yes I am." He growls when you shut his door and head around to the other side; by the time you finish buckling yourself in he's holding out a still-wrapped burrito. The scowl on his face suggests that you're not allowed to refuse it. 

Instead, you ignore him and start the truck, backing up until you can pull out of the rest area. Amazingly, that tactic works...well, for maybe five minutes. 

Then Karkat starts nudging at your wrist with the burrito, which he's unwrapped now, and you can't help but laugh. "You're a stubborn fucker, you know that?" 

"Hey, it's a demon thing." In the second that you take your eyes off the road to grab the burrito out of his hand, you see his self-satisfied grin. 

" _Sure_ it is." If you had a hand free, you'd push your shades up so he could see you're rolling your eyes at him. Since you don't...time to improvise. 

_I'm rolling my eyes at you, asshole._

Even though he's already leaned back and closed his eyes again, Karkat laughs at that. "Of course you are," he says. "You're not going to get lost if I go to sleep for a couple hours, right?" 

"Hell yeah, man. You got four hours before I wake you up, alright?" 

"Mhm." 

...is he asleep already? 

You're pretty sure he is.


	7. Chapter 7

Karkat stays asleep until about twenty minutes from the point where you were going to wake him up anyway. He's not _nearly_ as deep as he was yesterday, though; you keep catching half-formed thoughts from him, and when you absently put your hand down on the center console and find his hand already there, he laces his fingers through yours as soon as you brush against him. 

Which is fine. You can drive with one hand. You can definitely do that. 

When his hand tightens on yours you have to glance over, so you get to see the expression of mingled exasperation and affection on his face. Then he mutters, "Kankri, you can't just—" and opens his eyes, and it's replaced by mild confusion. "Uh." 

"You have a nice dream, Karkat?" You squeeze his hand as you ask that, and have to bite your lip to keep from grinning like an idiot when he automatically returns the pressure. "Dreaming about an old boyfriend?" 

"Oh _fuck_ no." Karkat snorts out a laugh, tipping his head back and swiping at his hair. "Just my brother—and he'd spend a couple hours explaining why that comment wasn't funny." The grin he flashes at you has sharp teeth, and you know he's doing that on purpose. "It is funny." 

"Can't believe a demon would lecture _me_ on morality." 

He shrugs. "Well, you'd call him an angel." 

"Huh." _What, one of you were adopted?_

"No. I mean, I guess we could've been, but the fucking genetics are pretty clear even if he went one way and I went the other." 

"But a demon and an angel—" 

"Dave, do you want to know a secret?" When you nod and glance at him again Karkat grins. He looks so damn pleased with himself. "There's exactly one difference between angels and demons." 

_If you try and give me a theology lesson I'll kick your ass, 'kat._

"In your dreams, fucker. Does that mean you're not guessing what it is?" 

Of course you know what it is. Bro's only told you a couple hundred times. "Demons are descended from the heretic angels who—" 

"Nope." 

"What?" 

"It's fucking _aesthetics._ " When you just stare at the road and try to figure out what the fuck he's talking about, Karkat elaborates. "Kankri and I are both affiliated with the same element—"

"What element?" 

"Blood." 

"That's not an element." 

"It's a composite element. Water, metal—" 

"Metal's not an element either." 

He huffs and shakes his head at you, claws pricking your hand just the slightest bit. "Water, metal, which is a fucking _subcategory_ of _earth,_ and spirit. Are you going to argue with me about spirit not being one of the elements too?" 

"Everybody I know always called it life, but nah, spirit makes more sense. So you're a blood elemental." 

"Elementals can only be affiliated with the pure forms, so...no. Plus they're extinct, except for a couple really fucking old ones. I'm a hybrid of a couple different pure elementals, plus whatever else my ancestors thought it was a good idea to fuck—beings like me are almost as common as you humans." 

"And your brother—Kankri?" You wait for his nod before you continue. "Kankri's an angel. Which I don't get." 

"The only difference between an angel and a demon is our appearance. My true form—" 

You can't help but shiver, not from the memory of him but from the memory of your dying brother in his arms. "I saw it." 

_Are you okay?_

"Fine. I'm fine." _Thinking about shit._

"Don't do that. And you didn't see my true form, trust me. It's a hell of a lot more demonic that I was going to let you see when you were already hurt and scared to fucking death." 

"Isn't any way you look demonic, technically?" 

You grin at Karkat's irritated huff. "Shut the fuck up." But he does...something. You don't get how it works, exactly, but for a second you see a sketchy image superimposed over your vision: a figure whose hair is somehow both blood and flames, eyes dripping red lines down his face, huge batlike wings flexing slowly behind him. 

_Holy shit. Holy fucking shit._

Karkat frees his hand from yours so he can get ahold of the steering wheel right before you would've let the truck drift out of your lane. "Exactly. Couldn't have you having that reaction or worse, could I?" 

"...yeah." _Maybe when I'm driving wasn't the best choice of times either, asshat._

"We're still alive and in one piece so it seems okay to me." He smiles innocently at you and lets go of the wheel, letting you put both hands on it again. "Anyway. That's what I'd look like, if I let my true form front. But Kankri, he'd look like a fucking angel, not the biblically accurate ones—" 

"Do those actually exist?" The question slips out even though you didn't mean to ask it. You don't know whether you want a yes or a no, but whichever one it is you desperately want to know. Let him prove the whole god thing one way or another. 

Except he shrugs. Of course he does. "I don't fucking know, Dave; aren't you hunters the ones who do the religion shit?"

"Some of us." 

"...ah." He got a lot out of those three words, you realize. And you have to grin, because you know that he did from one understanding sound. "Kankri has wings too, but they're, you know. Feathery. Halo instead of horns, but then again I have a halo too if you look—" 

"Wait, seriously?" _Fuck but I want to see it. Maybe touch it._

He starts laughing at that, covering his face with his hands. "Holy _fuck,_ Dave, don't say that to anyone other than me, alright?" 

"What?" 

"It's a euphemism. Asking to play with someone's halo, that's an invitation to fuck." 

"...shit." Your face immediately heats up and you don't dare look over at him. Even though you're trying to keep your thoughts to yourself, you know Karkat's probably getting your panic-filled litany of _I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up_ perfectly clearly. "I, uh..." 

"You didn't fuck up, calm down." He pats your shoulder, one quick touch that's gone before you can fixate on it. "It's just words. Like, I've slept with you three times, that doesn't mean we did anything else." 

_Even if it sounds like it,_ you think, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from cringing at what it does sound like. "Do me a favor? Don't put it like that. Fucks me up, right now." 

"Sorry." He thinks a wave of apology at you to go with the word, and holds out his hand to you, waiting for you to take it. It's a moment before you can do that. "...that's your turnoff, by the way."

"Shit!" 

Amazingly, you somehow manage to make the turn without causing a collision. It's kind of a near thing, though, and you're pretty sure that there's a couple of drivers who're absolutely pissed at you now. By the time you get over the unpleasant jolt of adrenalin from that, Karkat's pointing out the driveway you need to pull into. 

_What the hell am I doing?_ you ask yourself. Which is a stupid question—you _know_ what you're doing, this isn't even anything hard or dangerous, nothing you should worry about, but fuck. You're still finding it a little hard to breathe normally as you fumble with your seatbelt. 

"Dave." Karkat leans over and slips his hand down to hit the button, holding the belt down until you look at him. "It's going to be fine, I swear." 

"Yeah." You lean forward and let your forehead rest on the steering wheel, drumming your fingers against the dashboard. "Dude, I'm bringing a fucking demon into a hunters' safehouse; what could go wrong?" 

"Do you want me to disappear for a while, instead of coming in with you?"

_Fuck no._ "...Rose promised me Dirk and the others wouldn't fuck with you, I just..." _I'm a fucking anxious idiot, is all._

"Shush." Karkat pulls at your shoulder until you raise your head and see that he's frowning at you. "You're not the one who gets to call yourself an idiot." 

"What about if it's true?" 

"Then _I'll_ call you an idiot. C'mon, let's go see your cousin." Karkat opens his door, but waits for you to reach for yours before he slides out of the truck. 

Halfway to the door you feel a telltale tickle in the back of your mind and grab his arm, pulling him to a stop before he can pass through the spot you did. "There's a barrier—" 

"I see it." He tilts his head, eyes going lighter red than you're used to seeing them, and puts his hand out tentatively. If anything happens, you're ready to jerk him back and leave, despite how much you do want to see Dirk and the others. 

Nothing does happen. Karkat feels around for a second, glances at you, then shrugs and keeps walking. 

There's a doorbell. After you just stare at it for a full minute, Karkat rings it, then steps back from the door. He doesn't reach for your hand, and no way are _you_ reaching for _his_ hand, but damn if you don't wish he was touching you right now. 

John opens the door. You were a little bit afraid that you wouldn't remember his face even though it's only been—what, three years? No, a little more than three and a half—but that's one thing you didn't have to worry on. He's taller than you now ( _goddamnit_ ), black frames on his glasses instead of blue like you remember, but otherwise he looks pretty much the same. 

He stares at you for a second, then grins brightly—and his smile is _exactly_ the same—turns his head to yell over his shoulder, "Hey, Dave's here!" and takes one step forward to wrap you up in a tight hug. 

_Oh, shit. Shit._ Instead of reciprocating, you just fucking _freeze._ Your breath catches, your hands fold into fists at your sides, and you try really fucking hard to not think about the fact that four years ago you would've given pretty much anything for a hug from this guy. Back when he called shit gay and you had a fucking crush, before Bro really started training you, before...before... 

"Jesus, John, don't squash him to death." _Dirk. That's Dirk._ He puts a hand on John's shoulder and pulls him back from you, and you barely keep yourself from sighing in relief as you relax a little. John already looks a little bit concerned; you don't need to make that worse. 

"Hey, Dirk." You _think_ the grin you give him is steady. You're pretty sure it is. "We made it." 

"Yeah." Your cousin's changed a little more than John. Most of it is how much longer his dark gold hair is—enough that he's got it back in a ponytail, nothing like how Bro wore his—and a new set of tangled scars that just barely peek over the neckline of his shirt. He gives you a minute to look, then grins back and opens his arms. 

Him, you can hug. He's family. And you do hug him, maybe not as tightly as John did you, but still pretty damn tight. By the time you pull back, you're grateful for your shades—your eyes are stinging like hell. 

Karkat nudges questioningly at your mind, and you nod and reach back to put a hand on his shoulder and pull him forward. "This is, uh." Fuck, you're really close to crying right now. "This is Karkat. Dirk, John—where's—" 

"Jake's inside; he was in the middle of something," Dirk answers before you can finish asking. He pulls John back out of the doorway, ignoring the whine that provokes. "C'mon in, I know he wants to see both of you." 

Karkat has to push you before you can actually get yourself to move. As soon as you step through the door he's next to you again, taking your hand and squeezing it. _Are you okay?_ he asks silently. 

_Hey, I made it through John jumping on me, I can handle everything, right?_

From his soft growl, Karkat's very aware that you're dodging the question. It makes you tense up again, for fear that either John or Dirk is going to take the sound the wrong way. 

Dirk doesn't show any sign of having heard at all, although you know he must have. John looks confused for a second, then grins at Karkat. "Dirk said you saved Dave's life?" 

You want to wince. _Shit, did I tell him that or did Karkat?_

Karkat's hand tightens on yours for a second. _All I told him was the truth._ "I don't know if that's right. I mean, this wasn't an immediate about-to-fucking-die thing—" 

"If I know Bro, you saved his life," Dirk cuts in. "...and thank you. For doing that." 

Karkat's head tilts again, as he studies Dirk. "I don't think a hunter's ever thanked me for killing one of their own before."  
_Don't say that, man, don't admit it..._

But Dirk just shrugs, spreading his hands. "Well. _Usually_ , people like that don't become hunters, they end up dead or in prison. Think of it as an argument against keeping shit like this as a family business." He focuses on you, instead of Karkat, and gives you a reassuring smile. "Dave, seriously. You can relax; I'm not going to avenge that asshole or whatever you're thinking." 

"I'd like to see you try," Karkat mumbles, and looks surprised when John laughs. 

"C'mon, if you guys fight then I'm gonna have to play peacemaker _and_ calm Dave down, don't make me do that." He rolls his eyes dramatically, stretching up to wrap his arms around Dirk's shoulders. "And I'm not the one who's good at being the go-between." 

"Don't let him lie to you, he does just fine." Dirk smiles and pats John's hands, then extricates himself with a deft twist. "Wouldn't be much of a fight, anyway. He'd knock me out, Jake would come and get upset, when I woke up I'd have a headache and get scolded by both of you at once—" 

"Again." 

"Yes, John, we all already know I only date guys who're willing to tell me exactly how and when I've fucked up—" 

"Wait, what?" That can't possibly be right. "You're, uh...dating John? Or Jake?" 

Dirk nods, but clarifies, "And." 

"...what?" 

"Jake _and_ John." He shrugs a bit. "It works." 

There are several things you want to say. What comes out is, "John, you asshole. You told me you were _straight._ " Probably not the most relevant point right now. 

Karkat makes a strangled choking sound as he tries not to laugh. 

John and Dirk don't even try not to. 

And after a second you have to grin at yourself too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I really need to say this here: Dirk is dating Jake. Dirk is dating John. Jake is not dating John. Jake and John have a platonic, non-romantic relationship that's more like a moiraillegience than anything else.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: I'm aware that Jake is reading tarot Wrong™ but the meanings cited for cards should be correct-ish.

The "something" that Jake was working on turns out to be a full-out tarot spread, you find as you follow Dirk into the kitchen, Karkat and John a few steps behind. Most of the kitchen table is covered in carefully-laid-out cards, an arrangement that's more complicated than any of the ones you know. Then again, the subset of tarot spreads that you know only includes one or two; Bro stopped trying to get you to learn when he figured out that your predictions lacked the weird clarity that Jake's have always had. 

When you come in, Jake's perched on a stool that's too high for the table, a thoughtful look on his face as he examines the complicated patterns he's created. He only looks up when Dirk puts a hand on his shoulder, glancing between Karkat and you for a second before a grin spreads across his face.

" _There_ we are." He slides off the stool, tapping the card at the center before stepping over to give you a quick, much-less-stressful half-hug. "You've certainly gone through the wringer, haven't you Davey? You and your demon both." 

"He's not exactly _my_ demon." Jake's still half a head shorter than you, you realize as he steps away to take one more look at his tarot spread. Nice—you're not _totally_ surrounded by guys who're taller than you. "His name's Karkat, by the way. I'm shit at intros, sorry." 

"You're absolutely fine, don't worry!" He aims that bright smile at Karkat, who looks completely disconcerted at the hand that Jake holds out. "Jake English, at your service." 

You seriously wonder if Karkat's going to accept the handshake or if you're going to end up privately prompting him. After a second, though, the demon grins (no sharp teeth, thankfully) and shakes Jake's hand, letting go as quickly as he can while still being polite. "I really fucking hope you don't say that to just any demon you work with." 

"Oh gods no, I'm not as much of an idiot as _this_ one—" a shove at Dirk's shoulder than pushes him a step closer to John and makes you want to tense up at the prospect of upcoming violence— "would have you believe. That'd be John." 

"I'll kick your ass, English," John immediately offers. He slips behind Dirk as he says it, but the grin on his face reminds you that the probability of actual fighting here and now is really fucking low. "C'mon, come and get me—" 

"Don't you dare start a fight in the kitchen." Okay, _that_ voice is new. It's a lot like Dirk's (and a little like Bro's) but it's from behind you, where there shouldn't fucking _be_ anyone—

You don't register your own movements until Karkat steps up next to you and slides a hand under your arm, pulling you out of the defensive crouch you've already fallen into. Shit, you're running your hands across your waistband, too, looking for a fucking weapon. One that's not there, thank god. 

_You're okay, Dave. Anyone who'd hurt you goes through me, and that's a lot fucking harder than it looks._

Without his steady voice in your mind, you probably wouldn't be able to just straighten up again, take a deep breath, and glance over at Dirk like you do. 

Dirk just looks irritated and resigned. "Hal," he says with a calm that's probably deceptive, "get off the fucking fridge." 

"Hmm...no." 

You look up. 

The guy perched on top of the refrigerator looks kind of like Dirk. The facial structure is the same, but this guy's as pale as you are, other than red tracery that looks like tattooed circuit lines running from his temples down the sides of his face. His hair's white instead of warm gold, shorter and spiky, exactly how Dirk wore his a couple years ago, and his eyes are the same red you're used to seeing in the mirror. 

Karkat tilts his head to one side, considering the guy on the fridge. "Okay, I'll bite. What the fuck are you?" 

"Hal Strider." He shifts slightly, still grinning down at you. You don't think you've ever seen someone look so pleased with themself in your life. "I'd offer to trade information, but I already know that you're Karkat and you're a demon, and the one that has a certain family resemblance to Dirk and I would be Dave, right?" 

You realize that that was kind of directed at you, and nod. "Uh...dude, I have no fucking clue who you are, okay?" 

"It'd be amazing if you did." Hal shrugs and shifts his weight, just jumping off the top of the fridge and landing on his feet with all the weightless grace of a cat. Standing, he somehow manages to look more and less like Dirk at the same time. "I didn't exist last time you were around." 

"Still don't really understand here." You have to look over at Dirk for help. Before he can do more than open his mouth, Karkat reaches out to poke Hal's shoulder experimentally, which Hal allows with the same faint smile that seems to be his resting expression. 

"It's a golem," he announces.

" _He's_ a _shikigami,_ " Dirk corrects with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead. "Sort of." 

You have no fucking clue what a shiki-whatever is. Karkat, however, evidently does, because he immediately points out, "Shikigami don't have self-awareness or willpower, and this thing obviously does, so..." 

"Pronouns would be nice instead of just 'this thing.' I'll answer to any of them, although I rather like the sound of 'he' and 'they.'" Hal smiles sweetly at Karkat, tapping one finger against the circuit-marks along the sides of his face. "Also, you're absolutely right; shikigami don't have free will. Not when they're created from inert material and a driving force, anyway. _However._ If you add a harddrive containing a sentient AI—that would be me—" 

The look of confused horror spreading across Karkat's face is actually a little comical. "You can't fucking _do_ that." 

Dirk groans and shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Dude, you have no idea how much I wish that was an accurate statement sometimes." 

" _Anyway,_ " Hal continues, just slightly louder, "if you add a sentient AI to the mix, as per said AI's instructions—" 

"We all know you came up with forty percent of the plan, give it a rest already." Dirk's grumble and eye-roll suggest that they've been over this territory already. 

"Dave doesn't know, so shut the hell up. You add the AI, _as per said AI's instructions_ so you don't fuck it up like the incompetent meatbag you are, and a few steps later you have me." Hal spreads his hands in a gesture you recognize as an echo of one of Dirk's, smiling wider. "One superbeing." 

"One freak of nature," Dirk corrects. 

Jake laughs and shoves very gently at your cousin, wrapping an arm around him. "You love him." 

" _You_ might love him. I certainly don't." 

"He doesn't exactly have to love me if he doesn't want to." Hal shrugs, eyes fixed on you with an unblinking intensity that's more than a little disconcerting. "Brothers fight, don't they? Unless it gets to be a little more than scuffling, you don't need to worry about us, English. And it won't get that far, now will it?" 

"Not unless you do something especially asinine." 

"Oh, I don't intend to." He's speaking to Dirk, isn't he? So why the fuck does he have to look at you like that? 

_Stop. I'm being fucking paranoid._

Except you look away from Hal and Dirk's watching you too. Jake's more focused on Dirk, but his eyes slide towards you when you glance at him, and away again as soon as he meets your eyes. _Doesn't want to stare at me. Fuck._ John's talking to Karkat, but there's a pair of excited blue eyes fixed on you too, flicking back to the demon every few seconds— _of course John wouldn't care about staring, he was always honest about shit even when we were kids_ —so upon that further examination, _everyone's_ looking at you, and that's...

That's not how shit's supposed to be. _This isn't supposed to happen to me,_ you think, and hate the panicked edge the thought has. 

Dirk's saying something and you have zero ability to focus enough to listen to it. Which is just as fucking wrong as you being the center of attention, you're supposed to fucking _listen_ to him, fucking listen to _Bro_ —

"Dave." And, maybe because he can tell you're a little past verbal responses, Karkat switches to words that go straight into your head, private and silent and weirdly safe. _Dave, you know you're safe right now, right? That fucker's not here. It's Dirk, not your Bro._

Fuck. Yeah. You know that. _Can't fucking think, man._ And you make a deliberate effort to let him feel what you're overwhelmed by—like you're the only one worth looking at in a crowd, because _you fucked up—_

Karkat growls, loud and startled and deep, and Jake lets go of Dirk, and now everybody—other than Hal, who's still watching you thoughtfully—is staring at the demon. Which is just as fucking bad because they're hunters and you know what hunters do—

"Jesus fuck," Karkat growls, shaking his head. "John, right? And Jake? You both want to ask me shit, right?" When he gets a definite nod from the former and a slightly less emphatic one from the latter, he continues, "Open season on questions, as in I'll answer anything you come up with for the next—" _Dave, how long?_

_Fifteen minutes._ It's a number you pull out of nowhere, but it _feels_ right, and Karkat slots it into his sentence without any discernable pause. 

"—fifteen minutes, so long as you ask it in a different fucking room." He crosses his arms and scowls at John. "Fair enough?" 

John's expression suggests that the deal is more than fair, but he just nods, grabbing Jake's wrist and all but dragging him into the other room after Karkat. The door shuts, and you're left with just Dirk and Hal. 

Where the fuck _is_ Hal? 

"Calm down." Dirk sighs when he sees you glancing around, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs and sitting down. "He's on the fucking fridge again." 

"Oh." The shikigami grins at you when you look up at him. When did he even get back up there? "Is it even worth it to ask you why?" 

"It's an excellent vantage point." Hal shrugs. 

"Try, 'I'm an asshole,'" Dirk suggests. 

"Well, I can't argue with that, but we all know who I'm modeled on, don't we?" 

"You guys are always like this, aren't you." You don't make it a question, and you don't look at either of them to see if they nod. If they're still staring at you, you don't fucking want to know. Instead, you sit on Jake's stool—which feels wrong; it's too tall and too isolated, too _obvious_ —but you made the choice to sit on it and now you're stuck with that choice—and look over his tarot spread, mentally naming the cards you recognize as a way of calming down a little. 

This spread is a mess, really. He's using the major arcana and (you think) the four royalty cards from each suit, but you don't see numbered cards from _any_ suit. Despite that, you're pretty sure there's more than thirty cards on the table, and you see the Tower at least twice. Which means more than one deck. 

What the _hell._

Of the layout itself, you can tell that it's centered on three cards: Knight of Swords and Knight of Cups side by side, with the Lovers card laid over and half-obscuring both of them. Beyond that, you don't know enough about the order or layout to read, but those three cards make a hell of a lot of sense to you. 

"Jake's been drawing those two when he tries to read for you, the past few days." Dirk leans over to tap first Cups, then Swords. "You, and Karkat." 

That _feels_ backwards, but going by the meanings of the cards it really isn't. "So he's been reading for me." 

"I asked him to, yes." When you glance up at him you meet honey-orange eyes that're too fucking familiar for you to not wince. "Why, do you count that as spying?" 

"Depends on what you learned from it." You don't count it as spying, not really, but you need to know what Dirk already knows so you don't reveal more than you have to. 

_What the hell am I even thinking? I don't have to hide shit, there's no consequences if he finds out things Bro didn't want known..._ Well, other than your discomfort, maybe. Not that that matters. 

Dirk sits back, watching you. "Jake didn't finish telling me about this one, obviously. But when he went over your past he got abuse, willpower put to bad use, increasing domination—" 

You know which cards he's talking about. Out of the corner of your eye, you can almost see them light up out of the spread on the table. "Strength and the Magician, both reversed. The Emperor." It makes you shiver. You know exactly what Jake read as the sum your past—or, more accurately, who. "Bro." 

"I didn't know you knew the meanings so well." 

"Yeah. Can't get an accurate read on anything, but I know the cards." 

"Ah. The Moon came up in most of the spreads—" 

"Deception." There's other meanings, but that's the one you fix on. It's hard to keep your hands from folding into fists again. "He was a _fucking_ liar, so that's accurate." 

Dirk tilts his head and you think of Karkat. _Stupid._ "You're angry at him." 

_More than you're ever going to know._ "He's dead. So no, I'm not." 

"...fair enough, I guess. I might be pissed enough for both of us." 

He keeps his tone calm, and you still want to flinch at the words. You don't do that, but you do look down at the cards instead of at Dirk. "Not really a reason for that." 

"Bull _shit_ there isn't." The twist of emphasis he puts in that is savage enough that you look up at him, hoping he doesn't see the unpleasant jolt of fear he just sent through you. There's no anger on his face, at least. "I knew him. I hunted with him—not alone, D never let Bro take me out unless he was coming along, thank god—but I knew how he was, we all did." 

"Yeah, no. You didn't." _He was worse, trust me._ The cards are interesting, maybe if you look at the layout just a little longer you can figure out how it works, and if you look at it you don't have to look at Dirk...

"Dave," he says quietly, and when you still don't look up at him he keeps talking. "You know why we didn't cut him off after he killed that girl?" 

"She was a fucking were. She killed—"

"It wasn't about _her._ Him killing her was fucked up, both how he did it and that he did it at all—she was a kid, she killed a couple fucking horses in her first change and we should've paid for the damages and gotten her settled with a pack, _not_ let him get his hands on her and torture her to death." 

_Shit._ "He told me she killed someone. Not some fucking horses..." 

"Lying bastard." 

"Yeah." The fact that you just believed him is worse. 

"You know why we didn't cut him off?" 

"No." 

"D wanted you back." When you look up in surprise, Dirk nods. "Yeah. The whole reason he never ran Bro down and made him answer for that shit was because they made a deal—that bastard got to leave, go wherever the fuck he wanted, so long as he left you with us. Except when I finally got ahold of him after that last fight, he said you took the money he'd had on hand and took off. He said he didn't know where you went." 

"I—" You almost did that, but not until a full year after when Dirk's talking about. The first time you woke up with Bro in bed with you, with your head fuzzy from the alcohol he'd bullied you into drinking the night before and your shoulder aching where his teeth had drawn blood, feeling more disgusting than you ever had in your life, you _almost_ left him. Almost. But in the end? "I'd never. I couldn't." 

"Yeah. I was an idiot to believe him, I know. I'm sorry, Dave—" 

" _Don't_!" Fuck. That was louder than you should've let it be, and you can sense rather than see Hal shift slightly on top of the fridge—getting ready to attack you if he has to, to protect Dirk? You don't know. "Don't apologize for that shit, don't fucking do it, it doesn't _help_ , it makes things _worse_ —" 

You look at him again and you can't fucking see him clearly— _no, tears, not that, I can't fucking cry, I can't, I—_

_Karkat, please—_

Something shifts. Something twists. Something in the center of your mind _changes,_ and it's been changing for a while, hasn't it? Since the first time you felt the tingle of wards as you passed through them, before everything started. But this time you feel it adjust itself to what you need, just a little more, and it's _terrifying_ to feel that but it's so, so relieving, because you feel him. You feel Karkat, and when you blink your eyes are clear again. 

Unfortunately, it's John that you're looking at. Not Dirk.  
_Holy shit,_ you try to say, but instead of that you feel your mouth shape the words, "Dave, what—" and it's his deeper voice that you feel in your throat. 

No. _His_ throat. 

_Too much,_ you think, or maybe he thinks it, but it's true either way. _Too fucking much, go back, make it stop—_

You're not sure whether it's you or Karkat who triggers the flip back. It doesn't really matter. You blink again and you're staring at the kitchen tile, which is a hell of a lot closer than before because you're on your hands and knees on the floor. The stool's overturned, knocked halfway across the room, and Dirk's kneeling next to you with one hand on your shoulder. 

"Dave?" he asks, then, more hesitantly, "...Karkat?" 

"Right the first time." Sitting up is _hard_ , but you instinctively push Dirk away when he tries to support you. "Don't—don't touch me. For a sec. I need—" _Karkat._

"Your eyes—"

"What?" Because you need Dirk to see that you're you, your eyes aren't the changing red of the demon's, you force yourself to look at him. Just for a second. Long enough to catalogue the confused concern on his face. Then you just close your eyes, cut off sensory input from that quarter. 

"Did he possess you?" 

"No! I—" _I'm so fucked. Hunters don't do this shit. I'm a hunter, I can't do—whatever that was._ "I. I possessed him? Dirk, I don't _know_ —" 

You bite down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood, before that last word can turn into the panicked wail it _really_ wants to be. 

"Dave, it's okay—" Dirk begins, and abruptly stops as the door slams open again. "Karkat, what the hell—" 

"Don't you fucking block me from him," Karkat snarls, and you think you cringe. 

_Please don't hurt him, don't fucking hurt him, please—_

"No one's getting hurt, Dave. I swear to you." Dirk's hand leaves your shoulder, and Karkat's replace it, one resting on each shoulder and giving you a comforting sensation of _presence_ , for a moment, before he moves them up to press against your temples. "Open your eyes." 

"No—" 

"Just for a second, okay? You just did something that should be really fucking difficult for a human, I need to make sure you're okay. Just a second and then you can do whatever you want." Karkat's voice is gentle and coaxing again, nothing like how he snarled at Dirk a moment ago. _It's all right, Dave, I swear. Just look at me._

_I'll cry,_ you warn him. 

"Yeah. I know. That's okay." 

You open your eyes. Thankfully—and somewhat surprisingly—your vision's only a little blurry; you can see Karkat's face fine. Dirk's sitting just being him, arms crossed and expression purposefully blank and unreadable. 

"I'm okay," you say to both of them. That's not even kind of true. 

"Shush." Karkat's thumb strokes across your cheek. It's a stupidly reassuring sensation. "You can close your eyes if you need to now. Nothing's fucked up structurally..." 

You shut your eyes immediately when he says that, trying not to shake as you start thinking about how this looks. _I did something. Something magic, the kind hunters don't use. With a demon. I'm so fucking screwed, this isn't—_

"Dave. Dave, shush. Come here." His hands leave your face and you nearly panic enough to open your eyes. Then he slips an arm around your shoulders, pulls gently enough that you could definitely get away if you wanted. 

Instead, you lean into him. _We're fucked._

"We're not fucked. Dirk, tell him." 

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be telling him," Dirk protests. 

There's a very soft noise that you can't quite identity from behind you, and someone else's hand brushes against your hair. "Want me to do the talking, brother dearest?" Hal asks calmly. "I actually have some kind of handle on the situation here, which you don't." 

"If you upset him more I'm kicking your ass." 

"Fair enough. Dave?" 

Words. Gotta have words. "Yeah." 

"The talented are welcome here. Do you understand that? I can't tell what sort you are, but I can see the empath link between you and Karkat, and I'm assuming there's more—" 

"No." 

"Ah. There might be later, or maybe not. But that's an _asset,_ do you understand?" 

"It's not a fucking hunter thing—" 

"Dirk's something between an artificer and a technomancer. Jake's a diviner, possibly one of the best alive. Rose—you remember Rose, don't you?—she's a witch, engaged to a vampire." Hal's hand rests against your shoulder again and just as quickly withdraws. "And you already heard what I am." 

"We're not like _him._ " This from Dirk again; when you cautiously open your eyes, he's sitting back on his heels in front of you. "Maybe he told you hunters were fucking bigots, but that's not fucking true." 

"...yeah." _Karkat?_

"Yes?" 

_Tell 'em I believe them. Can't talk._ Mostly because you really are crying now. 

"You don't have to, don't worry." 

He starts relaying not what you thought at him, but what you mean, and you relax against him, close your eyes again, and really start to calm down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to just make a quick note here because I'm not too sure how obvious I managed to make it: Dave's both touch-repulsed and touch-starved, which may sound oxmoronic but is _definitely_ possible. Bro conditioned him to fear and refuse any kind of romantic or sexual contact with anyone other than Bro himself, and he also tended to write off almost all physical contact Dave had with anyone else as sexual. This led to Dave making a conscious effort to stay in a personal-space bubble even when he had the chance to interact with other people; said effort became more _sub_ conscious over time. Thus, touch-repulsed. He also has had little/no physical contact with anyone other than Bro and the beings he hunted and killed, for literal years, and the demons and monster were trying to kill him, and Bro almost never touched him in a way that was consensual and/or nonviolent. So yeah, he does want to be able to touch the people around him, especially Karkat but the others too. There's just some brain hangups in the way still. 
> 
> tl;dr? Dave needs therapy; he wants to hug the others but will probably have a panic attack if anyone hugs him without explicitly telegraphing their intentions. Maybe even then, depending on circumstances. Karkat's somewhat of an exception


	9. Chapter 9

When you're mentally competent to untangle yourself from Karkat—which takes a while; you don't want to let go of the demon, as in you want to stay right here on the floor and cling to him with a desperation that's strong enough to unnerve you—he goes back in the other room to keep talking with Jake (who came into the kitchen, somewhere in there, looked at you and wisely decided to just gather up his tarot cards and abscond) and John.

You sit at the table again, in a chair rather than the goddamn stool, and let Dirk and Hal tag-team each other in asking you questions. 

Having the shikigami to break up the flow of conversation, change the direction before it can go down any really bad alleyways? That helps. When Dirk starts asking questions about exactly how Bro died, you still immediately manage to get upset enough to flip yourself and Karkat again. 

This time you stay calm enough to work out exactly what's happening, though. You see what Karkat's seeing, hear what he's hearing, but you speak from your own body and if you move it's your body that moves. It's not a body swap by any means, and honestly flipping puts you in one of the most vulnerable positions you could be in—blind to what's happening to your body, more-or-less defenseless. 

Despite that, it makes you feel _safe._ It links your mind up with Karkat's more than ever, lets you drop yourself into the strong, warm sweetness that's _him._ Lets you feel that everything he's thinking about you is tinged with affection and protectiveness, a combination that your brain classifies as a four letter word that scares you a little but makes you want it so fucking much you can't process. 

Flipping back is easy, but Dirk and Hal definitely noticed. You can see the former visibly relax when your eyes go back to their normal amount of red. The latter just keeps staring at you with an absolutely fascinated look, leaning forward until you wonder if he'll tip the stool over again. 

"I saw it that time," Hal says before Dirk can do more than open his mouth. "That's amazing, did you know that? Can you do it consciously, or is the trigger below that level?" 

"Back the fuck off him, Hal," Dirk warns. 

"He's fine, man." You shrug in answer to Hal's question, though—you honestly don't know whether you can or can't flip with Karkat on purpose. _Yo, man, you okay from that?_

_Isn't that what I'm supposed to ask you?_ Wow, it's a hell of a lot harder to read the thoughts he sends you when he's in another room. You can understand him, but it's fainter, takes more concentration to get the mild amusement under the thoughts. _You should see the look on Jake's face._

"Yeah, I bet you just scared the shit out of him," you mumble, grinning for a second before Dirk raises an eyebrow and you realize that you did, in fact, say that out loud. "Uh..."

"Empath link?" Hal asks. 

"Something like that. I, uh..." Dammit. You haven't told them exactly how you ended up with Karkat; maybe doing that would be a good idea. Logically good, anyway; your instincts are hissing at you to shut up, not tell anybody _anything_ until you're forced to, maybe not even then. It's hunter business, it should stay between the ones it concerns—

"Dave, hey." Dirk taps your hand where it's resting on the table, and you realize that you've folded it into a fist. "You okay?" 

"Yeah." _Heads up, 'kat. I might flip us again in the next couple minutes._

_That's fine. Tell them to fuck off if they go too far with their fucking questions, okay?_

_Will do. Or, y'know, call for you and you can tell 'em to fuck off, right?_ When he laughs in your head and sends the mental equivalent of a nod, you focus on Dirk again and carefully flatten your palms out on the table, keeping your eyes fixed on the polished wood between them. "Karkat, he says I made the connection, not him." 

"Did you?" Dirk asks. 

"Dunno." You want to say _yes_ and the ghost of Bro in your mind growls that you have to say _no._ "I—fuck. I was upset, I didn't want to die. Bro wasn't there, I didn't—didn't think he was gonna jump in even if I was gonna get killed, he told me this was a solo job and he fucking _meant_ it, I don't remember what I did." That's a lie. You remember everything, especially the moment when you stared up into Karkat's eyes and prayed he wouldn't kill you.

"Damn, I never even met the guy and I don't like him," Hal mutters. 

"Some of that might be the trace memories from me, though." Even though you're still looking at the table instead of him, you can tell by what you hear that Dirk's shifting, probably crossing his arms. "Part of the point of creating your programming in the first place was to keep myself from obsessing quite so much over Dave." 

You have to ask. "Why the hell would you do that?" 

"...because I care about you, maybe?" Dirk just sounds almost comically confused as to why that's a question at all. 

Oh. Yeah. Fuck. You seem to keep forgetting that's a thing. 

"So to recap, I exist because Dirk's coping mechanisms are weird as fuck and probably illegal in some areas—" 

"Shut the fuck up, Hal, I knew what I was doing—" 

"You got Roxy to use magic to make a theory clone of your goddamn _brain,_ stuck said theory clone in a harddrive and wrote enough coding around it that it wouldn't fade away, almost killing yourself in the process. Don't tell me there's not laws against that somewhere." 

"You better hope there's not, since you're a direct result of 'that'—" 

Hal makes a sound that's unspeakably self-satisfied, Dirk huffs in exasperation, and you have to look up at them. The look on Hal's face suggests that he just scored a point in a game that's been going on for a pretty long while, and Dirk just looks like he'd gladly take the opportunity to resign from this game. 

They're glaring at each other, not at you. Then the shikigami's eyes flick toward your face for just a second and the smug expression on his face shifts to something just a hair more relieved, and you realize something. 

You're not exactly sure what it is, though. Weird. 

When you open your mouth, the observation you didn't quite know you made comes out. "You're winding him up to wind me down?" 

Dirk frowns in confusion, but Hal raises his eyebrows, grinning after a second. "Perceptive. Is it working?" 

"I mean, I wasn't as fucked up as before, but yeah. I thought you wanted me to flip with Karkat again, though?" 

"Yes, but on _purpose._ " Hal leans back on the stool—how the actual _fuck_ is he doing that without tipping?—gesturing expressively with both hands. "I mean, if you can. It'll be interesting if you can switch at will, maybe even useful under the right circumstances—" 

"Dangerous in a fight, though," you point out, before he can say anything about how the ability would be an asset while hunting. "It's a sense swap, I don't know what's happening to me while I'm flipped and neither does he—" 

"Shit, that'd get you killed in a fight, period." Dirk shudders and shakes his head. 

"More reason to work out whether it's something conscious or not. It'd be...useful, to be able to get real-time information from places only demons are welcome, but the danger of having the talent trigger at the wrong moment is more important." Hal nods decisively, leaning forward and fixing his unsettling crimson eyes on yours. "So. Can you do it again, purposefully?" 

You have absolutely no idea. 

"Give me a sec," you tell him, and take a deep breath. _Karkat?_

There's no lag time; he answers immediately. _Yeah. Right here._

_Gonna flip us again._

_Are you okay?_

_Yeah, just—just need to see if I can. You alright with that?_

_Definitely. Don't hurt yourself, though, Dave._

_I won't._

You stop thinking words at him and try to work out exactly how to do this. It was simple, the first two times, accidental even. Like thinking at him and having him hear, that easy. So how do you do it? 

_Everything I can do is triggered by fear,_ you think. Except that's not totally right. Yeah, the first time, back in that abandoned building, when you did whatever you did and connected yourself to Karkat, you were motivated by fear of death and of Bro's disapproval, but after that it's been as easy as the thought of Karkat's eyes and the desire to be heard. The latter doesn't even have to be a conscious desire, even. And you were scared when you flipped with him the first time, upset the second, but that just means that both of those states of being are _keys._

"Means there's a fuckin' lock," you mumble. Hal and Dirk blink in unison, which you file as pretty damn funny and then ignore, in favor of puzzling out your own problem. 

A lock. A _lock,_ in your head, and you don't want the key because the key is any one of a thousand possible states of mind, you want to pick the fucker open, take it off and substitute your own key. Make it one of a kind. Make it safe, less like the safety on a gun than a combination on a lock, impossible or nearly impossible to open on accident.

So. 

For the first time in your life, you deliberately try to use magic. 

You remember looking up at Karkat and seeing his face, his _eyes,_ for the first time. You remember how it felt to have something in your mind twist and change. You remember what it feels like to sense a binding circle, have Karkat run his magic through you to close wounds, know what magic feels like—

_There._

You close your eyes, and open _his_ eyes. _Oh hell yes,_ you try to say, except of course he's not saying that. What you hear instead is a laugh, and he holds out his hands so you can see that you're in a body not your own. Just in case the fact that John and Jake staring at you didn't tip you off on that. 

" _Good_ job," Karkat says. Damn but that feels weird. 

_Yeah, man,_ you say, not hearing or feeling it. Then you grin—can't feel that either—and purposefully flip back. 

Ah. Now you can feel the smile on your face, almost painfully wide. That's not why there's tears in your eyes, though. You can't really articulate why they're there, but you carefully don't look at Dirk or Hal as you wipe them away. 

_Dave, are you—_

"Yeah, man, yeah, I'm fine, I'm better than fine, fucking awesome—" _God, man, I want to do that again, it's fucking—_ "—perfect, holy shit do you get how fucking perfect that is—" _how perfect you are, do you fucking know that, do you—_

_Dave._

"—do you get this, do you see how—" _much I want you right here with me, in—_ "—in my head, I don't—" 

_Holy fuck, Dave, stop. Just for a minute, okay? I'm getting maybe half of that, you sound drunk._

"Fuck, 'kat, this is better'n being drunk." Except you're pretty sure you say that the wrong way, aloud instead of in your head, and Hal and Dirk are staring at you in curiosity and concern, respectively. "I'm fine. 'm _fine._ " _Dizzy._

The door opens, again, and before you can remember how to turn your head Karkat's bending over you, one hand on your face so you have to look at him. Not that you'd look away even if you could. "I _bet_ you're dizzy. What hurts?" 

_Nothing, man, I'm fine._ He blinks and the patterns in his eyes change and you can't resist reaching for his face. "You're so fuckin' pretty, you know that?" 

As he catches your wrist and gently pulls your hand down, you remember that you shouldn't call him that. Damn. You ought to be more worried about that than you are, really. 

"Is he—" That could be either Dirk or Hal, you're not sure. There's no way you're looking away from Karkat to find out. 

"He's an idiot." You _know_ your cousin and the shikigami don't hear the pure affection behind that, but you hear it, you almost feel it as Karkat shows you teeth behind his scowl. "He worked himself up to using magic he _just_ found; now he's high off it. I hope it's been fifteen minutes, because this Q and A session is over until Dave comes down." 

Karkat leans down and you hook your arms over his neck before you consciously realize what he's doing. Some part of you wants to protest as he picks you up—Dirk's here, hunters are here, someone's going to see and tell and you're going to get your ass kicked for this later, you know you are—

_Fuck that. Bro's gone. Can't kick my ass, fuck him._

"Exactly," Karkat murmurs in your ear. "You're safe." 

"Safe," you repeat, and Dirk's saying something about rooms and beds, but you can't be bothered to listen. Instead, you lean your head against Karkat's chest and close your eyes, tuning out everything but the sound of his pulse. 

It's entirely within the realm of possibility that you fall asleep. You don't think you do, but there's some span of heartbeats—you weren't counting, just listening—and then you realize you're lying on Karkat's chest, face pressed into warm skin between the collar of his shirt and the curve of his jaw. 

The dizzy euphoria is gone. Now you just feel...weird. Not bad. He said you were high, didn't he? Sounds about right. 

His hand's on your back, but it moves up to stroke through your hair before you do more than think about moving. "So can you give me a reliable answer on whether you're okay yet?" he asks, very softly.

You're glad for the low volume, because anything else would definitely hit switches in you. You're not sure which, but you _know_ something would change. "You want a right-now answer, or an in-general answer?" Okay, if you're doing more talking you need to look up. This muffles you; if he can understand at all you'll be surprised. 

"Why, are they different?" 

"Mm." You said you'd look up. Now _do_ it. "Yeah. You got a yes, I'm good, I'm fucking _stellar,_ and a...I dunno. Probably not gonna feel as good as I do now when this shit wears off." Well, now you're a liar again. You didn't raise your head an inch.

"Yeah." His hand is still in your hair and you want to roll your head into the touch, close your eyes and beg for him to pet you like you're a cat or a dog or a bird, anything. "New magic like this makes everything better, doesn't it?" 

"...nah." Wait, no, don't say what you're thinking— "That'd be you, not the magic." Shit. Failed step one. 

Actually, step one was probably like ten steps ago. 

Karkat laughs as you push yourself up to look at his face. He looks a little surprised and a lot pleased, smiling at you as you try to figure out how to play off what you just said. The incredibly stupid, not fucking thought out, dangerous thing you just said. 

_Flirting. That counts as flirting, doesn't it? Fuck. Fuck._

The state of mind you're in doesn't seem to allow the panic and fear you halfway expect to rise in your stomach, which is...a relief. You think. What you get instead is the unwelcome feeling of your face going hot red and a vague but sharp sense of worry. 

Then Karkat shakes his head and brushes hair back from your face, still smiling. "Did you know you're a fucking mess?"

"Do you like messes?" Oh god, _stop._ It takes more shifting to get your hands up to cover your face without rolling off of him, but you get it. He doesn't need to see the terrible embarrassing color you've gone. 

He waits for you to stop squirming, then says, "Maybe, maybe not, but I like you." 

_Shit._ You think your heart just stopped. _Don't say the other thing, leave it at that, let it be enough, please don't say the other thing—_

"Shush. I'll stop, Dave. It's okay." Karkat's hands move back to your hair, combing through it as he makes soft soothing noises at you for a moment. "Why?" 

That could be taken a couple of ways. You think he did that on purpose, just so you can be allowed to answer a question that isn't the one he really wants the answer to. 

You don't even know if what you say is the right answer. "...right now, you say anything beyond what you already said, that you like me, and I'll fucking lose it. I want—I want—" Okay. You're stuck there; can't say what you want if you don't know. "Don't. Please. I gotta talk to Dirk more today, don't make me fall apart now." 

"That'd be shitty of me, since I'm trying really fucking hard to keep putting you back together." His hands run down your neck to your back; you shiver as he brushes across the scars at the nape of your neck. "Lay back down and relax. This'll wear off in maybe an hour." 

For a second, you wonder what's supposed to be wearing off. That's how fucking distracted you're letting yourself get. 

"Don't wanna sleep." Even as you tell him that, you're lowering your hands from your face, settling down on top of him again and not resisting as he pulls your arms up to his shoulders. How does he even know what's going to be comfortable for you? That's fucking amazing. 

"If you fall asleep I'll know the mind shit's gone. Call it a diagnostic tool." Karkat huffs out a breath, patting your back gently. "Now stop fucking _worrying._ " 

"Nah. Can't ever do _that_ , babe." 

Which is a lie. You're not worried about anything right now. 

A couple minutes later you realize you called him babe. 

_...well, fuck. Okay. Okay. Worry about that later._ Right now, you're going to concentrate on him. You can catch up to everything else later.


	10. Chapter 10

Karkat's right; it only takes about forty-five minutes for the pleasantly weird dizzy feeling to mostly wear off. _Mostly._ There's still a comfortable bit of euphoria left over. It makes everything just a touch more pleasant, for no reason at all. 

Dirk offers Karkat a room, and the demon just shrugs and grumbles something about how he wants to keep an eye on you. And yeah, maybe that gets a raised eyebrow from your cousin, but he doesn't say anything about it. Which is good, because even with the leftover magic high you probably would have gotten immediately, intensely uncomfortable with any questions Dirk could've asked. 

So the room that Karkat carried you to so you could come down, that's your room. (And his.) For as long as you stay, anyway. Which could be a while—you did promise Rose you'd stick around until she came down to see you, after all. Anyway, you'll be here long enough to justify bringing your shit in from the truck. 

Karkat's been shanghaied by John again; Hal makes at least an attempt to help carry stuff in, but after a couple trips back and forth, he notices Bro's laptop, its bag tucked under the seat, and pulls it out with a quick glance at you. "How open would you be to my going through this? I'd like to see if that asshole had any info he wasn't sharing with the rest of us." 

"It's probably gonna be encrypted, but knock yourself out." The phone's on the console between the front seats; you snag it and toss it to him. "Might be shit on that too—just, like, be careful going through the pics if you decide to do that." 

Hal grimaces as he catches the phone, sliding it into one of the outer pockets of the laptop bag. "Unless he collected glyphs of unmaking—" 

"Not sure what that is, but I don't think so." 

"Right. Good. I'll be fine, then; fucked-up shit doesn't bother me quite as much as it does Dirk or the others." He pauses halfway through the movement of digging out one of your bags, a thoughtful look spreading across his face. "...which might possibly say something about my morals, I suppose. Or lack thereof." 

"How come?" You yank the bag all the way out—Hal seems more hesitant to treat your belongings roughly than you are—and try to remember what's in it. Bro's clothes, you think. Karkat can take anything he wants, and you're making a goddamn bonfire out of the rest. 

"The obvious assumption for a normal human is that a person who isn't immediately and viscerally disgusted by graphic images is one who's comfortable with them." Hal shrugs, taking the bag out of your hands and slinging it over his shoulder. "Maybe even desensitized to them, possibly _approving_ of them." 

"Are you?" You don't really expect an affirmative answer, but you're curious as to how exactly he _will_ react. You're probably risking pissing him off...but that didn't occur to you until after you asked. 

Hal just shakes his head. "I _do_ have morals. I can recognize atrocities as such—not sure if that's the right word for what's on the phone—" 

"It's. Uh. It's a pretty good word for some of them." 

"Ah." There's a hesitation, maybe just to acknowledge what you just said and maybe to give him time to consider what you might mean. You're not going to enlighten him. "...that's not the sort of thing that upsets me, but I'm as capable of knowing what's morally wrong as anyone is." 

"Well, other than Bro. Obviously." _Damn, I seriously didn't need to say that._

"Obviously," Hal agrees, and glances at you as you stop to get the door to your room open. "Would you mind if I saved any images that'd incriminate him as..." 

This time, the hesitation is definitely him hunting for a word that's descriptive but also inoffensive enough not to hurt you. He _really_ shouldn't be worried about that second one.

"As a sick fucking bastard?" you supply, and Hal smiles a bit.

"Exactly that. Just in case." 

You almost ask _in case of what?_ but you guess you do know, actually. Just in case anyone tries to say that his death wasn't justified. Just in case you and Karkat need protection later. 

"Take whatever you want off of there, dude." As you take the bag back from him, you think of an exception to that offer. "...uh. Just, like. Do me a favor, alright? Delete anything of me that you find." 

He gives you a sharp, very-like-Dirk look that you pretend not to notice at all. "So I'm going to find compromising photos of you?" 

"Maybe. Dunno." Bro didn't usually keep the kind of pics you're thinking of longer than overnight—at least you don't think he did. It's entirely possible he's got a whole file of them, buried deep enough that you never found it in your quick forays through his electronics. More than possible; probable.

You don't want anybody seeing the pics he took of you like that. Bad enough it happened at all—it'd be fucking horrible, humiliating almost beyond anything Bro did to you, to have anybody else know. 

Hal's just watching you, head tilted. You realize that you let this pause go on longer than is comfortable. Fuck. 

"Look, if you do find any? Delete 'em. I sure as hell don't want 'em." 

"Of course." He nods, stepping out of the room. "And I'll show you anything I want to save before I save it, just to be sure." 

"Yeah." God, you don't know how to thank him for that. "That's, uh. That's good, that's great." Dammit. You're not good at this kind of shit. 

Hal doesn't seem to mind, at least. "Give me a couple hours and I'll have these back to you," he says, and then he shuts the door and you're left to finish unpacking by yourself. 

Which is also, actually, good.

* * *

It's more like four hours before Hal reappears. You spend the time sorting out shit you want from shit you don't, making Karkat go through the latter category to see if there's anything _he_ wants (other than a couple shirts, there isn't) and obtaining permission from Dirk to torch it in the backyard. 

Piled into the firepit and soaked with a cupful of diesel siphoned from the truck, it all burns pretty damn nicely. Maybe petty destruction shouldn't make you feel this much better, but fuck it. You think you've earned the right to be petty against the fucker this stuff belonged to. 

Rose calls Dirk before you're all the way done watching the fire. She wants to talk to you, once she knows you're there, and he ends up bringing the phone out and leaving you with it, and you talk to her for a good hour, sitting in the grass and watching clothes get converted to ashes as you do. 

She tells you that she's engaged, to a vampire. _Kanaya,_ she says, and you have to grin at the way she says it. Rose is most definitely in love, and you're more than happy for her. 

She tells you that she and Kanaya are flying down in a week or so, and they're stopping to pick up Jade and bringing her down too. Then she has to ask you if you're okay, because you managed to choke on absolutely nothing at the mention of Jade and cough into the phone for a solid minute. 

You're fine. Just. Surprised. With a couple questions. 

Yes, Jade is fine. Apparently she's a shifter now (which gives you a definite _what the fuck_ moment), bitten by a werewolf a couple years ago. Rose spends maybe five minutes rambling about the _fascinating_ interaction of the bite's curse and Jade's latent magic (you didn't actually know she had magic at all), which combined to make her something distinctly different from a were. Yes, she remembers you; she's excited to see you. Yes, she knows you're traveling with a demon, and she's more than okay with that. 

The fact that everyone's okay with you being this close to a demon is taking more than a little getting used to. 

By the time Rose has to hang up, the sun's half-set. Dirk and John are working on what you assume is dinner, and Jake's using the floor of the living room to do a tarot reading for Karkat. You try to avoid stepping on any of the cards as you sit down on the floor next to the demon. "He tell you anything you don't already know, 'kat?" 

"A couple things." He shrugs and scoots a few inches closer to you, enough to just barely touch. "I think Jake's being flattering. There's no way those fucking cards are calling me heroic as often as he's claiming they do." 

"Oh, be quiet." Jake huffs and looks up from his work, pushing his glasses back up. "My interpretation is the most accurate you're going to get, Mr. Vantas." 

Karkat groans at that name, rolling his eyes. "Please fucking forget I ever told you my last name." 

"No can do; I need that for accurate divination." Jake smiles brightly, reaching down to gather his cards up into one pile. "Dave, I'd like to do a drawing for you tomorrow." 

"Uh." He'll know shit about you, maybe more than you strictly want him to. But Jake's not going to use whatever he learns against you. "You can do me now, if you want." 

"I'm afraid I might've already done a few too many rounds today, actually." He shrugs, giving you a quick, apologetic smile. "My own stupid curiosity, making me keep fooling around when I have a headache. I'll be fine so long as I stop trying to do readings for a bit." He finishes straightening up his cards and gets to his feet, almost bumping into Hal on his way out of the room. 

Karkat raises his eyebrows as Hal comes straight over to sit where Jake was a minute ago, watching as the shikigami opens the laptop he's holding and starts typing. "You look pissed over something." 

"Accurate." Hal nods, eyes fixed on the screen. He doesn't look upset to you. Well, not unless you really focus on the set of his shoulders and the stiffness of his calm expression. "Dave, question." 

"What?" 

"Do you still want to see the images I wanted to save, or no? I...didn't quite realize how bad some of these are. I know you might not want to look..." 

Karkat growls softly as Hal trails off. _Dave, don't you dare._

_I can take it,_ you think at him, and nod at Hal. "Yeah, it's fine. Lemme see." 

He spins the laptop to face you, and you _immediately_ regret that decision. There's just thumbnails up, but you can still see the pics well enough for your brain to supply the details. You got to see most of these in all their original bloody horror, after all. 

_Fuck. Fucking bastard._

"Fuck this," Karkat growls, reaching forward to shut the laptop; you catch his hand right before he can touch it. 

"Hold up. Hal, this one—" 

He leans over to see which one you're pointing at. It's not a really bad one; just an image of a tattoo with blood mostly obscuring the pattern and a series of teeth marks dug into it. Human teeth marks; you know that even if it's hard to tell from the picture. "The one with the fucked-up protection rune?" 

"Yeah. Delete it." Just looking at the image provokes a faint phantom pain at the base of your neck, and you have to restrain yourself from rubbing uncomfortably at the scarred tattoo there. "And any other pics you saved of it, I guess. Copy whatever else you want and delete the originals, okay?"

"Of course." He nods, spinning the computer around again. "Twenty minutes tops." 

"Yeah. Thanks." Without thinking, you lean against Karkat. 

The fact that his immediate reaction is to wrap an arm around your shoulders is _so_ comforting.

* * *

You wake up at somewhere around two in the morning, briefly confused by the fact you're curled up on top of someone before you remember that it's Karkat. The grin that that realization provokes brings on the second realization that you really need a drink of water. 

Getting off of Karkat and out of the room without waking him up isn't all that hard. Finding a fucking glass in the kitchen is more difficult, actually; every cabinet door creaks, and every time you make any kind of a noise you can't help but freeze, even though odds are nobody can hear anyway. 

Call it force of habit. 

Eventually, though, you find a cup and get your drink, rinse the glass off and leave it in the rack to dry. When you turn around, Jake's standing in the doorway, watching you. 

Which nearly gives you a heart attack. How the hell did you not hear him?

"Uh..." 

"Hello, Knight of Blades and Fortune." The words come out of his mouth at what seems like half-speed, and he cocks his head to one side, eyes half-closed as he smiles at you. "You've come a long way." 

"Jake, what're you—" 

You stop when he shakes his head slowly. "The Page of Wands sleeps." 

"...okay, then." You're not entirely sure what's going on, but Page of Wands would be as good a card for Jake as any. He _is_ a bearer of important news, after all. "You oughta go back to bed if you're asleep, man." 

That earns you a slow smile from him. "The _Page_ is asleep."

"And you're not?" 

"Perish the thought." Okay, that comes out closer to how Jake normally sounds. "Tomorrow." 

"What about tomorrow?" 

"A task for the others. It wasn't meant for you, but without you—" He raises his hands, cups them in front of him and then jerks them apart, bowing his head. The gesture's oddly terrifying, and even though it should be meaningless you know it does have a meaning. Destruction. 

Well, fuck. Not like you can let that kind of thing happen. "So I gotta go along on whatever job y'all end up getting, huh?" 

Another shrug as he raises his head. His eyes are closed now. "Free will is yours to invoke, Knight." 

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, let's get you back to your boyfriend, alright? Let him figure out your prophecy shit." 

Jake doesn't react to that, but he lets you lead him to Dirk's room, and Dirk doesn't seem all that surprised at being woken up. He just nods when you tell him what Jake said, mumbling a sleepy thank you before pulling him into the room. 

You can hear Jake start to talk again as Dirk shuts the door, and you can't help but wonder whether it's more predictions or just sleeptalk. Either way, Dirk might be up for a while. 

Karkat growls at you when you crawl back into bed, opening his eyes for a second before pulling you back on top of him. "You were scared for a minute there?" 

"Jake came up behind me, is all." You _could_ tell him that something might happen tomorrow. Then again, you could not do that, and just go back to sleep. You decide on the second. "It's all good." 

He just grumbles something unintelligible and drapes an arm around you. With him this comfortingly close, it only takes you a little while to fall asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> +5k chapter
> 
> warning for blood, violence, and character death

Jake was right. Of course he was.

Hal's on the phone when you come into the kitchen the next morning, talking to somebody about bodies, death count, and "probable supernatural activity." His tone is completely professional, but the look on his face suggests that he's humoring the person on the other end. Still, when Dirk comes in, Hal scribbles something on the notepad in front of him, pushing it across the counter. 

Dirk picks up the paper and scans it, then glances at you. "We have a job today," he says quietly enough to not interrupt Hal's call. "You want to ride along?" 

Realistically, there's no way you're going to say no.

* * *

John stays at the house. You're not a hundred percent sure how the decision that he's the one who doesn't come is reached, but you're not a part of that process. Maybe Karkat is. You don't know. 

Karkat is the one who comes to get you, though, and if it was anyone else you might've ended up taking a slice out of them with the sword you're examining. But even though the demon's silent as he comes up behind you, and you've got your back turned to him, you know it's him that leans down and lays a hand on your shoulder. 

"Hey." You glance up at him for just a second—this isn't the most comfortable way to look up at someone, with you on your knees choosing what you need out of the weaponry in front of you—then nod at said weaponry. "Need a gun, or did Hal already fix you up?" 

"He dug me out some blades, yeah. They're out in the van already." Karkat sits down on the floor next to you, taking the sword off your lap and frowning down at it. "You do know you don't have to go, right? Jake and Dirk can handle this, it's a stupid fucking siren, that's not even—" 

"Jake said I should go along." 

"Last night, when he was fucking _asleep,_ he said that." 

"He was right about the other details of the job, wasn't he?" 

"He also told Dirk all about the dragon kittens in the closet—Dirk recorded him, I saw that shit." Karkat hands back the sword just so he can cross his arms and glare at you. "Divination isn't a fucking _science,_ Dave, not when humans do it. This is probably going to be easy, one kill—" 

"So how come you're worked up over it?" One gun, you decide. In a holster you can cover up with a jacket. You'd rather use the sword anyway. "In-and-out, one kill, Dirk'll probably be the one to make the kill, if you're right. If I'm right, things're fucked unless I ride along." 

"You don't even know that." He ends the sentence with an anxious growl, then huffs when you refuse to look at him. "Dave, come on." 

"You don't gotta go, 'kat." God, you hope he doesn't take , up on that offer. You're already scared; not having him there if things go south would be fucking horrible. 

"Don't be an idiot. You know I'm not letting you try and make yourself a fucking hero alone—" 

_Hunters are heroes to normies,_ a soft, sarcastic voice speaks up in your head, and you wince and cover it up by getting to your feet. 

"That's the last thing I'm planning on doing, man. Now c'mon, aren't they waiting in the van?" 

One more huffy growl, and he follows you out.

* * *

Dirk grumbles about the van for the entire twenty minute drive, with Hal sniping back at him. You're just glad that they're not sitting next to each other—Dirk's in the front passenger seat, and Hal's further back than you and Karkat are, not in a seat but spread out across the cleared-out cargo area, messing with a variety of electronics. You don't know how the shikigami hasn't electrocuted himself yet. 

You're also glad that Jake's driving, because he seems to have perfected the art of disregarding the ongoing argument, making him the safest one to be behind the steering wheel. Every so often he'll take one hand off it to swat Dirk, but that's all the notice he takes. 

Jake's not worried at all, and that's a bit reassuring. Dirk's obviously (at least to you) jittery, but not _really_ concerned about this job. The only emotion that Hal's letting show is amusement and irritation, but he's even better at hiding things than you or Dirk are—it's like he has a concentrated version of the hunter stoicism that's trained into your family. 

Makes you jealous. 

Karkat's not happy about any of this. You can tell that every time he thinks at you, and even when he isn't you can read agitation in how his nails—no, claws, really, at this point he's moved to the claws-and-teeth-and-horns stage, not quite able to pass for human at a glance—his _claws_ tap against the armrest, quicker than the tick of seconds passing, faster even than your heartbeat. 

It's not helping you keep yourself calm. _Would you chill out, man?_

He bares his teeth in something that's neither a snarl nor a smile, not turning his head to look at you. _Not until you do. And we both know you won't, will you?_

He's got a point. Not that you'll admit it. 

_Oh, shush,_ you think at him, but you use the memory of him saying it to you. _That_ gets the reaction you're hoping for—Karkat's head snaps around, and he stares at you in wide-eyed surprise for a good three seconds before shaking his head and barking out one short laugh. 

"You win, Dave," he admits. 

"Wins what?" Jake asks blankly, but Karkat just shakes his head and laughs again, softer this time. There's no more tapping, thank god.

* * *

Dirk's out of the van before you can do more than get your seatbelt off, stopping between the front of the vehicle and the wall of the building you'll be going into. It's some kind of vacant mall thing, not a proper mall but one of the ones that have maybe a dozen stores and not enough parking for even the relatively small volume of people who'll pass through said shops on a daily basis—which could be a reason for it closing, you guess. Although a resident siren could be a reason too. Of course, it'd make more sense if the siren was a new development; that kind of creature usually can't hold more than one or two people in its thrall at a time, and if something humanoid with smooth reptilian scales and webbed digits gets noticed, shit's gonna hit the fan. Since somebody called in Dirk, you guess it probably—

"Dave," Karkat whispers, and pushes you to the front of the van, where the other three are already waiting. Dirk's boosted himself up on the hood, and when you and Karkat step up in front of him he nods and starts talking. 

"Alright, Jake and Hal, you know the drill. Karkat, I'm guessing you've fought with hunters before?" He gets a quick nod in response. "So Dave's the only one who hasn't done it this way." 

"...yeah. Sorry." 

"Not your fault you got trained by a stupid antisocial bastard, man. Hal stays in the van, coordinates. We each get an audio-video pickup so he can keep tabs on us; it can broadcast anything he needs to tell us, so he can relay shit between all of us. With me so far?" 

Dirk stops, looking at you until you remember that this explanation is for your benefit and nod. "Fancy walkie-talkies, gotcha." 

Hal groans at that assessment, but doesn't contest it. 

"Alright. This is a fucking _huge_ place to search with only four people, but there's _supposed_ —" heavy, ironic emphasis on that one word "—to only be one demon in here—" 

"Siren," Karkat corrects, and you can't blame him for that hint of growl under the word. 

"Probably siren, since guys walk in and then don't walk out for days, can't remember a thing except that someone was singing. But we don't have eyewitnesses, so it might not be a siren, so I call the damn thing a demon. If that's racist or something, tell me later and I won't do it again." Dirk's tone is just a little curt, but you don't think he means to be rude. He's focused, is all, he's in that zone that keeps the best hunters alive and fighting. "But the fact that we have a lot of ground to cover for only one target means we spread out. Don't shoot anything, _anything,_ without asking for a ping from Hal and getting the go-ahead. That takes maybe three seconds max, and it keeps accidents from happening. Power's off in there, so it'll be dark, but the skylights and windows mean we don't need to supply our own light. You're light-sensitive anyway, right?" 

You automatically reach up to touch your shades. "Yeah." 

"It's an asset here. Ditch those when you go in; you don't even have to wait for your eyes to adjust like Jake does. Speaking of which—Jake, you got your contacts in properly?" 

"The answer's only ever been no once, love." Jake huffs, crossing his arms. You're not used to him without glasses; his eyes seem impossibly green. "I've got my eyes on and my guns loaded, don't worry." 

Dirk grins, showing more teeth than Karkat does, even though they're significantly less sharp. "Then we're a go," he says, as Hal leans over to (somehow) fasten a grey box about the size of an iPod to your shirt. "Time—" 

Jake swats him before he can finish whatever cheesy action-hero oneliner he was about to spit out. You don't know whether you should be disappointed or relieved. "Time to _go,_ " he supplies, rolling his eyes. "Idiot."

* * *

It's dark. 

Not _dark_ dark, not like—

You shove the memory of hunting Karkat away. This isn't that. This is a place where a teenager went in and walked back out with his guts ripped to shreds, calmly called 911, deleted everything on his phone while he was waiting for them to get there, and then died of blood loss in the ambulance. This is where three separate guys have walked in, walked out days later and told their friends/families about the singing they heard, then killed themselves within a week. This isn't a fucked-up test created by Bro, this is a place where there's something dangerous.

Something evil? 

You don't know if it's evil. Call it a rabid animal; it's a fucking force of nature, call it whatever you want, but it's something that needs to be put down. 

Dirk and Jake go left at the first turn; you turn to the right and Karkat puts a hand on your shoulder. He's switched both of the small, wickedly sharp sickles that Hal found for him to one hand; it wouldn't be good for fighting but it lets him touch you. 

_Dave, I can go with you if you don't want to be in this place alone._

Silent is good. Lets him not be heard by anyone but you. Safer. Also reminds you to answer him the same way. 

_Nah. It's in and out, remember? One demon, one kill._ Well, it's not a demon, but close enough. _We spread out, we'll find it faster._

He huffs. _Alright. Let's go, then._

You slip into the first storefront, he keeps going. He'll turn left at the first opportunity, you know, move to a hallway parallel to yours and check those stores. If they're all empty then you'll meet him at the end, move to the next two halls. Simple. 

It's darker inside the stall, but you can still see. There's displays and shit leftover from whatever this place used to be; you check behind and under each one, sword out and ready to use. Yes, you remember that you'll have to ask Hal for a ping before shooting, but using a sword is a different matter altogether; you're not going to cut another hunter instead of a demon by mistake. That's a rookie move, one you only had to make once. 

There's nothing alive in the first shop but a couple spiders and a mouse that stares at you from the top of a shelf for a full ten seconds before it turns tail and scurries away. From the amount of dust, there hasn't been anything in here for a good while anyway, but you still make the sweep, twice over like you've been taught, then slip back out and head for the next one. 

The next two are clear, and relief's kicking in just a little—Jake was wrong, this isn't going to be any kind of problem, it's all fine. Karkat's going to say _I told you so_ and you can point out that you never argued about it. It's fine, Dirk or Jake will find the thing you're hunting—

You're checking through the fourth shop when the connecting door between it and the one next to it, the last one on the row, creaks open. It's maybe three inches, but it's enough to snap your attention to that side of the room. 

"Hal." You worry for a sec that his mic won't pick up your not-quite-whisper, but then again you can always repeat yourself. "Give me a ping." 

" _You're clear._ " It doesn't take three seconds; he answers more-or-less immediately. " _Nobody in the room with you—but I can't make a promise on what's through that door. Karkat moves too fast for me to track him accurately, and the audio pulse can't be detected through walls._ " 

"Yeah. I'll be careful." 

" _You'd better._ " 

You leave your gun in its holster, adjust your grip on your sword, and step up to the door. It's barely open, just a crack, not enough to see anything through but definitely enough for you to slide your fingers under and shove it open all the way open. 

This room's all furniture and white sheets covering them, reflecting everything from the skylight and showing you that yeah, it's Karkat standing in the middle. He raises an eyebrow at the look on your face, shrugging slightly. 

_Damn, man, you move faster than I do,_ you think, and lower your sword. 

"Did you find anyone?" he asks. 

"No. 'less Dirk or Jake's having more luck, this job might be even more of a bust than we thought it'd be." _You can say "I told you so" now. Hell, I'll fucking invite you to do it._

Instead of saying anything, Karkat just takes a step towards you. "So we have a couple minutes at least to kill, then." 

"Uh...yeah." _Karkat, what the hell are you doing?_ You take a step back and remember that you let the door swing shut behind you when your back hits it. _Dude, fucking answer me, okay?_

Instead of acknowledging any of the shit you just thought at him, Karkat takes another step forward—too close, too _fucking_ close, he's got to know that your mind's buzzing with alarm, trying to point out that you _know_ what's coming, you've had Bro advance on you like this too many times to not know—and smiles wide. "Maybe more than a few minutes; they're slower than us, right? Come _here,_ love." 

You almost wince at that last word. "What—'kat, you—" 

_Wait._

Everything suggests that this is definitely a bad place and time to flip, but it's the only way you can get a handle on what the fuck he's thinking. You flip, and for a second you don't understand what you're seeing. It's too dark, too suddenly _quiet_ —you didn't realize that you, in the room with the sheets and with Karkat, were hearing something until you're hearing what he's hearing, the absence of that high sweet wavering note—

Karkat snarls, and he's the one who flips you back. You didn't know he could do that. You blink, and it's brighter again, and he's got his hands on your shoulders, the pain of his nails digging into your skin too thin, barely there at all. He's _smiling,_ it's reassuring, except—

_Listen! Fucking_ listen!

Could be his thought, could be yours. Either way, you take a shaky breath and stop trying to figure out what you're seeing and feeling, focus on what you can hear, instead. 

That damn sweet-sick tone, like— 

_Like singing. Fuck, like singing._

And underneath it? Almost overwhelmed, almost drowned out? Hal's screaming through his fancy walkie-talkie on your shirt, probably at full volume but you can barely hear him even when you concentrate. 

" _Dave, fucking kill it! What the hell are you doing, that thing's going to rip your throat out—Dave! Dave—_ " 

"Oh, shit," you murmur, tightening your grip on your sword and finally looking directly into Karkat's eyes. _Karkat?_

The worst part is that it's him. For all you can tell, it's him. 

_If I'm wrong, I'm not fucking leaving this place alive._

Karkat croons deep in his throat and leans closer to you. 

You bring your sword up and bury it in his side, cringing both at the feeling of blood immediately running down and over your hand, and at how he _howls._ His eyes go wider, shocked, betrayed— _I fucked up,_ you have time to think, _I'm so sorry, so so sorry, Karkat_ —

Then he shrieks again, the sound piercing through your head like a needle, and staggers back. You move without thinking, slicing cleanly across his throat, but the shrieking doesn't stop when he goes limp on the floor. 

_Oh, fuck._

More of them—not Karkat, but Dirk, John, _Jade_ as she was four years ago, people you know and care about, people you'd die for—scramble out from under the cloths. They don't have weapons, none of them have weapons, and as you try to back up further you dimly realize that they're all singing even though their mouths are drawn into concerned frowns or grimaces of disgust for the dead demon—

( _Karkat_ ) 

—the dead _demon_ on the floor. They're hunters. It's just a demon to them. They're hunters, and so are you. They're hunters, you're a hunter, you just did what you're meant to do—so put down your sword, Dave, you've won, put down your sword and come away from the mess...

"Fuck you!" You scream the words, and can barely hear your own voice. The singing in your ears is so fucking loud, so _much._

You can't think. 

You don't need to _think_ to _fight._

John's the closest; you drive your sword through his chest, spin away from Jade's clutching hands as you pull it out again, and slash across her throat as you complete the motion. (Never mind that you want to scream at seeing her bleeding. Never mind that when she falls there's three bodies on the floor, all because of _you._ ) You step back, almost into Dirk, and the next swing of your sword takes his head almost completely off. 

_Oh, god. That's all, that has to be all, please don't make me—_

Your ears are still full of high sick-sweet singing. 

Someone touches your shoulder. You turn, and nearly let your sword fall from your hand. 

"Bro..." 

He grins. He looks _proud,_ fuck, prouder of you than you've seen him for so fucking long even though you just murdered three hunters—why? Why the _fuck_?

Except. 

Except you know why. 

Dirk, with his experimental melding of magic and tech. John, and his pure excitement at the idea of talking to a demon. Jade, with the double strikes of having been close to you and of her half-lupine nature. They were hunters, but by Bro's standards they were tainted, useless, worse than the demons you hunt. 

_This was a test,_ the satisfied look on his face says, _this was a test and you passed, lil' man, passed with flying colors._

"Oh, my god..." 

Your voice sounds very wrong. 

Bro holds out his hand to you. 

_Extra credit for your fucking test,_ you think, and cut it off at the wrist. 

_So_ much blood. More, when you slash across his throat and shove him back with your free hand. The singing sound cuts out when you cut his throat; now your ears are just ringing. Your sleeves are soaked almost to your elbows, there's blood splatter on every one of the white cloths, you don't dare look down at the floor, and you can't move. 

_I killed them. I killed them, I killed them, I killed them I killed—_

The door—not the one at your back but the one that goes into the hallway—slams open hard enough that one of the hinges gives out, leaving it to swing drunkenly on the one remaining one. The being who steps through isn't recognizable as anything but a threat. 

You see fangs and folded leathery wings, skin the color of bleached bone and hair that could be flames or flowing blood or both. You see horns and a halo forged of the darkness that lies between stars. You see razor-sharp claws that will lay open your throat to the bone, and even though you know there's no chance you'll come out of this alive, even though you know the demon might, just _might,_ let you live if you don't act aggressive, you raise your sword to the offensive and take a step forward. 

And trip over a corpse. 

At least this should be quick. It's more than you deserve. You'll hit the floor, claws or teeth will rip into the vulnerable spot at the back of your neck, and it'll be over. 

Karkat catches you, and the jumbled talking/thinking starts as he pulls you back upright. 

"Dave—" _you're bleeding, fuck, you're—_ "hurt, where are you hurt, don't you—" _dare die on me, fucker, don't you fucking dare—_

_It's him,_ you think dazedly, grabbing at his shirt with your free hand. That leaves horrible dark red streaks on it, but you can't let go. "I fu-fucking killed you—" 

"No, you didn't, look, they're not—" 

He stops talking when you do as he says and look down, because you still see John, Dirk, _Bro,_ and you can't hold back your sobbing whimper. At least his—Karkat's—the one that looks like Karkat, that's behind you, where you can't see it. 

"I killed you," you tell him again. "It was—it— _fuck,_ Karkat, fuck, can't you—" 

"No, I can't. Come on." One smooth movement pulls your arm over his shoulder; he tries to take your sword and stops when you jerk it away from his hand. "We're getting the fuck out of here." 

You want to argue and your voice won't work. _If there's more..._

"You covered your share of this fucking place. So did I. We're _going._ " 

And you do go, mostly because he coaxes and bullies and almost drags you back to the entrance. You hate yourself for making him drag you, but something's fucked up between your brain and your body; you can't make yourself move any way other than slowly and clumsily, and if you think about how tacky your clothes are getting, how the warmth's leaving the blood you're covered in— 

( _hunter's blood_ ) 

—you can't move at all. But Karkat is strong enough to move you, and he gets you out of the door. 

Hal and Jake are leaning over Dirk, who's sitting in the open door of the van. He's bleeding—your stomach twists painfully when you see the blood—but from his stomach, not his throat.

Not from where you cut him. 

Karkat yanks the passenger-side door open and shoves/lifts you in, somehow not getting caught on the sword you're still holding. Then he pats your arm, thinks, _we're going, I promise,_ at you, and slips around to shove Jake out of the way. "I'll fix this shit. You finished your side, right?" 

"I—I—Dirk—" 

"Answer my _fucking_ question." Karkat's voice goes low and dangerous. You want to turn around and see his face, but you also can't bring yourself to look up from the bloody sword on your lap. 

Jake stammers again, and it's Hal who comes up with a coherent answer. "He and Dirk went over four, Dave did—five, I don't know how many stalls you—" 

"Five." Still a growl. Impatient. Upset. 

"That's all of them, there were only—" 

"Yeah. Good. English, either get in the fucking driver's seat or tell the shikigami to do it." 

"But Dirk—" 

"I'm _fine,_ " your cousin says, and okay, now you're crying. He sounds irritated, in pain, and that's it. Not dead. Not fucking dead. "Drive. Get us home and John can fix me up. I'll be fine." 

"There won't be any-fucking-thing _left_ to fix, idiot." Karkat huffs, and Dirk lets out a gaspy cry that makes you wince. "Shush. This is going to hurt, though." 

And it must, because by the time Jake gets the van backed out of the parking lot and on the road, Dirk is not-quite screaming in pain. Like there's a knife in his gut and Karkat is twisting it. Like he's dying, except in your experience Striders die more-or-less silently. 

Your experience is the two you killed and the one you asked a demon to kill, though. 

God, you can't take any more of this. Since you don't have a choice, you keep your eyes on the sword in your lap, try to wipe the steel clean on your (equally-bloody) jeans, and try not to think.

* * *

You leave your sword in the van and follow Hal into the house. He has a double handful of electronics, Karkat's carrying Dirk, who passed out halfway through the ride home, and Jake's clutching one of his pistols like it's a security blanket. You vaguely hope the safety's on or the thing's unloaded. 

Hal's the only one who doesn't have blood on him, but you are by far the most covered in it, despite the fact that you weren't hurt. Were you? You don't think you were. 

You don't feel anything. 

You think that that's meaningless, though, because "anything" includes your bond with Karkat. Your body is numb and so is your mind, and on some level you wonder if that's going to be permanent. If it is—

Don't. Don't go there. Not yet. 

Get this fucking blood off. 

You can't focus on which way Karkat, Hal, and Jake go, but you go straight to the bathroom. Your hands smear red across the doorknob—it's bad enough that you almost can't bring yourself to touch the sink at all, but the need to get that shit _off_ overrules the need to not see blood on something clean. 

Says something about your priorities, doesn't it? Disgusting. 

Your skin isn't steel. Blood doesn't just wipe off, doesn't even wash off; you're standing over the sink, scrubbing desperately at your hands and not getting rid of the mess. Your eyes hurt—when was the last time you blinked? If you keep your eyes open long enough, maybe they'll start to bleed too. 

Good. You need to bleed. 

You killed Dirk. 

You killed John. 

You killed _Karkat._

They bled. They bled, and you should be bleeding. 

The door behind you opens, and your mind doesn't even engage with your reflexes. You spin and snatch the gun out of your holster in the same motion, bringing it up to bear and flicking the safety off before you register who it is. 

"Dave—" John starts, then slowly raises his hands as he sees the gun. "It's me. It's okay." 

"No." You killed him. This isn't him. 

"Are you gonna shoot me?" he asks softly. "Can you maybe _not_ get me in the head, man? Like, I've been shot in the arm before, that'll suck but it's better than actually dying." 

"No." You don't even know what you're denying. The gun's leveled at John's chest, and you can't/won't change that. 

"Dave, you're bleeding." 

"No—" 

"Look at your hands—did you do that to yourself?" 

You do look, and almost wince. There's skin rubbed raw where you were scrubbing, red even where it's not oozing blood. You can't feel it. Not at all. 

John gently tugs the gun out of your hands while you're still staring, making it safe again and setting it on the counter. "Can we get that shirt off you, maybe?" he asks, and you shake your head and back up until you're out of grabbing range. 

"Don't fucking touch me." Ouch. You sound like a cornered animal. Maybe you are. " _Don't._ " 

John's blue eyes widen behind his glasses, and he immediately backs up. "Okay, Dave, I'm not touching you, see? Can you—" 

"Get out." 

"You're gonna hurt yourself if I do that." 

"Get. The fuck. _Out._ " He might be right, but that seems like a good thing right now. "I fucking. I killed. I fucking killed you, do you get that? I killed _Karkat_ —" 

That's as far as you can go. Beyond that, you can only wrap your arms around your chest and stare at him. 

John stares back for a moment, then takes the three steps to the door, yanking it open and leaning back to yell over his shoulder. "Karkat! Get your ass in here, Dave needs you—" 

He barely finishes that phrase before the demon's there, elbowing him out of the way and stepping right up to you. His hands come up, palms pressing flat against your temples, and you meet his worried red eyes for a heartbeat before closing your own. 

"Hey," he whispers, and there's a good ten seconds of silence before he continues. "Can you feel me?" 

"Your hands." You can't help but reach up and get ahold of his wrists, holding onto him like a lifeline. "Nothing else, I—" 

"Shh. Shush, Dave, it's all right." 

"I can't feel you." You're going to _break._

"I know. I know. Are your ears ringing?" 

"I don't—" You have to stop and think. After a second, you nod, because they _are,_ almost badly enough to be painful. "Yeah. But I can't feel you, can't _hear_ you—" 

"I'm going to fix it. Do you want me to tell you what I'm doing or just do it?" Karkat's voice is unbearably, unspeakably soft, so gentle, too gentle for him to be talking to you. 

"Fix it." You can't manage anything above a whisper. "I trust you, just—just please—" 

"Shhh." He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, and you open your eyes to see his eyes for just a _second._

Then everything is red and stupidly, familiarly painful. _Like when he healed my concussion back at the hotel,_ you think. 

_Exactly like that. Except healing from magic injuries might hurt worse._

Karkat's thoughts slide through your head as the pain drains away again. Before you think about how gross you must be right now, you have your arms locked around his neck, dragging him closer to you and you closer to him, not-quite-flipping his mind and yours but getting so close, so fucking _close_ that you might as well have done that. You're getting blood all over him. You might actually be hurting him a little with how tight you're clinging. And you're trying to say the same three words again and again, even if they're coming out garbled and fucked-up and mixed in with sobs. 

The version of it you're sending him through your bond isn't garbled, though. 

_I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you..._

And Karkat holds onto you, murmurs it back in your ear, and waits for you to let him go before he extricates himself and starts the process of cleaning you up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forty thousand words and they finally say it


	12. Chapter 12

"I got blood on you," you tell Karkat, as you (reluctantly) let him go. And you did; kind of a lot of blood. Looking at the stains on his shirt sets off a chain reaction of association— _blood on Karkat, blood on the white sheets, Dirk's shirt soaked in blood—_

"Dave. Hey. This isn't my blood." Karkat makes a deep soft sound, hands coming up to cup your face and make you look him in the eyes. "Dirk's fine, right now. Do we need to go see him before you clean up?" 

"No." _I believe you._

Karkat's proud of you for that answer, you realize as he lets go of your face. That knowledge feels...good. Really fucking good. 

"Sit down for me," he tells you, gently pushing you to sit on the lid of the toilet. "I think I'm going to cut your shirt off; you'll get blood on your face otherwise, and I really fucking doubt we need to handle that right now." 

But he doesn't move, and you sit there confused for a minute before you figure out that he's not just telling you what he's about to do. He's not just giving you warning, he's asking for permission. 

You can't find your voice to give it to him, but you nod. _Go for it, man._

When he leans forward with that sickle, though, you have to close your eyes. Sharp metal near your skin while you're unarmed and helpless isn't something you're okay with seeing. You can feel Karkat hesitate, try to dip into your mind and check to make sure you're still all right; he doesn't move to cut your shirt until you think reassurances at him.

When he does move, though, all you feel is a little tug at the neckline, hear a quick sharp tearing sound, and then the clink of metal as he lays his sickle down on the counter. You open your eyes again so you can kind of squirm out of the remains of your shirt, even if Karkat still does most of the work. 

This leaves you shirtless, though, nothing on your upper body but smears of blood, and god _damn_ but there's the panic again. You have to take a breath, watch Karkat as he opens cabinets in search of a washcloth, and remind yourself, _he already knows what scars I have; he saw them the first night when he healed me in the hotel. And this is Karkat; he won't use my fucking weak spots against me—_

"Scars don't mark weak spots, anyway." Karkat shakes his head and runs water from the sink over the washcloth he's found, then takes your hand, wiping your wrist and arm clean. The blood comes away easily, maybe because he knows how to wipe and maybe just because he's the one with dominion over blood and he wants it to. "If anything, they're strong spots. Nobody wants to get fucked up the exact same way twice." 

...he has a point. Although if you were given the choice of being hurt repeatedly in one place, or of just taking the spread-out patchwork of marks you actually have, you'd take the former. "One really bad patch of scars'd be better and easier to hide than this shitshow." 

"Yeah, but you get hurt in the same place often enough and you get so you can't stand to be touched there." Karkat taps the back of his own neck with his free hand, before moving to your other arm. "Right?" 

You remember how you shuddered when he touched you in that spot before, and almost shudder again. "That one, that's a...a memory thing, for me. Association. Not like it was the worst I ever got hurt..." 

"It still counts. Even if that wasn't the most painful thing, you're stuck associating it with the other shit." Karkat shrugs a bit, moving to start cleaning off your chest and immediately stopping when you can't help but flinch away from his hands. "Dave? Do I need to—" 

"Just give me a sec." You close your eyes and take a deep breath, relaxing a bit as he takes your hand instead of touching you anywhere else. "Can't handle touching if you wanna talk about Bro fucking me." 

He winces. You can feel it in your head. "Sorry." That could be an apology for bringing it up, for it happening at all, for anything at all. The vagueness is nice. Means you don't have to reply to it. "...do you want me to heal your hands?" 

"Not if it's gonna make you pass out." _And only if you want to._

"It won't." He snorts, adding, _of course I want to, dumbass._ Then, "This is a little thing. And I just ate; even after closing Dirk's wound I've got energy to burn." 

His fingers trailing across the raw spots on your hands feels like grabbing a handful of dry ice. "Ow, shit—ate?" 

"Three of those weirdass hybrids." At least he moves fast; he lets go of your hand and moves to the other in less than ten seconds. "Did you see what they were, or...?" 

"I saw—" _Dirk. John. You. Bro._ You have to check that Karkat's still there even though he's holding your hand in both of his, and you get your eyes open in time to see him wince again. 

"Fuck, Dave." 

"What'd you see?" 

"Not that." He pauses, thinking for a second, then puts one hand under your chin to get you to look at his face for a moment. When he blinks, for just an instant you see a snapshot of a being that's definitely _not_ a siren—something hairless and almost skeletal, low cunning but not much actual intelligence written on its greyish-skinned face. The damn thing's mouth doesn't close properly over its jagged teeth, and one hand has claws that're significantly longer than its fingers. 

"Holy _shit,_ 'kat." _Nasty._

"Since they can fuck around with humans' minds, 'nasty' doesn't even start to cover it." He shakes his head, letting go of your chin and brushing his fingertips across your shoulders, finding a set of spots that sting at his touch. That'd be where the beast that looked like him grabbed your shoulder, right? "You almost got hurt really fucking bad...next time, we don't split up." 

There will be a next time. 

Maybe you should feel—worried? Concerned? Resigned?—about that, but you really don't. You're _used_ to hunting; it's been your life since Bro decided you were old enough to handle a gun. 

(Eight. You were eight. He guided your hands to aim and fire at a demon lying bound and bleeding in a summoning circle. Perhaps because he was the one holding you steady, the bullet took the demon almost dead-center in the forehead; it made an ungodly mess but killed him _fast._ Bro dug the deformed bullet out, laughing at your unwillingness to watch him doing it, and got it made into a charm that was almost always either around his neck or dangling from the rearview mirror. _Lucky charm from my lil' man,_ he called it, and you hated the memories it brought up but never dared tell him that. You're sure he knew anyway.) 

There's always been a next time, after every hunt. And yeah, that knowledge has made you feel hopeless before—you don't have control, you don't know what you'll be expected to kill next, whether Bro is going to make it quick and clean or drag it out for hours, whether you'll have to watch or even participate, whether it'll be one who's a true danger or some poor innocent bastard. 

But now? Karkat's the one partnering you here, and he has some fucking idea of the difference between a monster and a demon. Bro doesn't. 

" _Didn't,_ " Karkat murmurs as he drops the washcloth in the sink. 

"Oh. Yeah." _Past tense is...hard._

He nods and touches your cheek again, light and gentle and gone before you can even try to lean against his hand. "I'm going to go get you clean clothes. Your pants are fucked too; you can wait until I come back and let me help, or clean yourself up while I'm gone." _I'm okay with the latter, but I know you might not be._

"Thanks," you tell him, because you don't know how to say _you're right, I'm not, I'm sorry._

Maybe Karkat gets the meaning of it even though you don't think it at him either, because he pats your cheek again, smiles, and then leaves you alone in the bathroom.

* * *

Ten minute later you're dressed, mostly presentable (well, as good as you're going to get without the shower you can't handle taking right now) and heading into the kitchen with Karkat close enough behind you that you feel his body heat. The only person there is Hal, who's got two laptops open on the table in front of him. He's typing into an open chat on one, but seems to have his focus mostly on the other; it's hooked up to what looks like some kind of storage device or external hard drive, with four videos playing at once in split-screen. 

You lean over his shoulder to look at the latter. Top right is what you're going to guess is a real-time stream of Dirk, laid out in bed, unconscious and with his bloody shirt gone. The other three are footage from the little devices Hal put on your shirt—and Karkat's, and Dirk's, and Jake's. Jake's cam isn't displayed, but the rest of them are. 

_Damn, those bastards are ugly,_ you think, watching yourself decapitate one. Did you really do that? 

"Are you going to be all right." Hal's voice doesn't rise at the end of the sentence, and it takes you a second to realize that he's asking you a question. Especially since he doesn't look up. 

"Shook up a lil, but fine. Karkat, uh. Did some damage control." 

"Oh." Hal nods, relaxing just a tiny bit. He still doesn't take his eyes off the text onscreen, though. "Jake, um. Jake might need 'damage control' as well. And Dirk." 

Karkat reaches out to tap the screen. "You're keeping an eye on Dirk—where's Jake?" 

"John's cleaning him up. He's fucked up; I don't know if you really spoke with him—" 

"If he's anything like Dave was, I don't fucking need to." Karkat growls quietly, crossing his arms. "Did you get those fuckers ID'ed yet?" 

The shikigami shakes his head. "Nobody I've contacted has seen anything like them before—which isn't surprising, since I'm fairly sure they're some kind of hybrid. Possibly a new species, if they bred true—" 

Karkat's growl is louder and more unhappy this time. "Yeah. They probably did. You don't get that many from one fucking litter, not from sirens or vamps, and they were luring in guys. The one that went after Dave first was pretty obvious about what it wanted." 

Huh. Okay. You already can only kind of remember that. Like, you know it happened, you remember Karkat—well, _not_ Karkat, the hybrid demon—and you remember killing the damn thing, but the details are already going soft in that memory. 

Karkat's watching you curiously when you look up at him. _You alright?_ he asks

_Can't remember that shit._ You open your mind to him as well as you can, will him to see the weirdly vague memory. 

Surprisingly, he grins. _Good._

Hal taps a few keys and glances over at the other monitor. "Well,now they're an _extinct_ species. Fuck them. A cleanup team's on its way. It'll be a day or two; I asked for Rox instead of anyone closer, which is a bit of a security risk but I don't fucking care. I want her _here._ "

_He's scared,_ you realize. You don't quite know why. 

Then he says, "Is it possible for you to fix whatever's fucked up in Dirk's mind now, or do you have to wait until he wakes up." And you get it. Hal's worrying about Dirk, because that's what normal fucking families do. 

_Karkat, you can fix him, right?_

_Not exactly. But I'll make sure he ends up okay, I swear._ "He'll sleep for a while longer. Keep an eye on him and don't fucking leave Jake by himself, all right? Do you guys keep chalk around, or do hunters not bother to do that anymore?" 

"Top drawer on the left." Hal points without looking, and pulls the laptop with the chat back towards himself, beginning to type again.

Karkat mumbles a thank-you and yanks the drawer open, getting what he wants and then heading for the door. You trail behind him, slightly confused. 

_What're we doing?_

_I mean,_ I'm _summoning a demon. Well. Assuming you'll give me a hand, since there's this stupid fucking loophole that won't let demons summon their own kind._

Okay, you have no idea what he's planning. Oh well. "Cool, never done that before. Lead the way, 'kat."

* * *

Karkat spends ten minutes drawing the circle on the concreted portion of the backyard. You feel like it's there precisely for this purpose, or something kind of like it. 

Technically, what he draws is a double circle, one within the other. You sit in the grass and watch as he adds lettering in the space between the two—some of it's Latin, some runes, and the rest symbols that you don't recognize. They have meaning, though; you don't doubt that for a second. 

"Hey." Karkat sits back on his heels, dropping the half-used piece on chalk and looking over at you. "Come here and test this for me." 

He sends you an almost-image of what exactly he wants, so you know to get up and step closer to the circle, cautiously putting your hand into it. If there was a summoned demon in there, this'd be dangerous as hell; you can feel the tingle of magic as the circle's temporarily broken by having you bridge _inside_ and _outside._

"It's complete," you tell him, and pull your hand back. The feeling of magic reminded you of a question, though. "There's a barrier around the house, remember? Won't that—" 

"Fuck this up? No." Karkat shakes his head, putting a hand on your shoulder to pull you back a few steps. "I asked John about that—it's not even for demons at all; it's a ward against curses and ill-willed magic. He said they use this place as a safehouse for hunters who've ended up with especially bad fuckers—the kind with access to more powerful magic—after them." He glances at you, the corners of his mouth twitching up for a second. "A barrier to stop demons would be a fucking hassle; poor Hal's demon enough to trip it. He'd be stuck either in, or out." 

You can just imagine. "And pissed over it too, huh?" 

"Exactly." He snorts and moves to stand behind you, hands resting on your shoulders. "Are you ready to try this out?" 

"I still don't know what I'm doing, but...yeah." 

"Okay." _It's simple. I'm going to put the words you need in your head, you speak them. As long as you trust me, it'll be easy._ His hands tighten, just a little. Anxiety, you think. "Do you trust me?" 

"Hell yes." Breathe in, breathe out. This'll be a cakewalk. _Let's get this show on the road._

He snorts out a soft laugh, and starts feeding you words. 

It's weird, doing this. For the first couple seconds you can't figure out how to keep up with his pace—it's too quick, maybe you can speak that fast but there's a lag between your mind and your mouth that screws everything up. 

Then you realize that all you have to do to minimize that lag is open up a little more to him. Let him in your head just a bit farther. 

You have almost no problem with doing that, even if it makes you stumble over a syllable as you do it. You can feel Karkat's relief that you came to this conclusion, as he settles in your mind and starts speaking the words of summoning through you. 

(It actually occurs to you that he's pretty much possessing you, right now. It's a mark of the kind of shit that's happened in the last week that instead of being worried, you find that _funny._ )

(Also pretty damn nice. Means he's close to you.) 

So you just relax, and you let him make you do what he wants. There's a lot of words that go into calling a demon, apparently, because it's at least ten minutes before Karkat pauses, you feel something twist in your chest—some measure of power leaving you—and in the circle, something _changes._

Someone _arrives._

You only get a flash of red and the impression of a startled face, though, because your sight immediately wavers and goes blurry. Karkat seems to know what's happening, maybe expect it, because he catches you before you can do more than start to fall.

"Karkat," whatever you've summoned says reasonably, "if you've harmed that boy—" 

"Shut up for a fucking _second_ , Kankri," Karkat growls. 

Your brain's too fuzzy to remember why you know that name. Eh, you'll figure it out when you wake up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shikigami is a shell inhabited by a low-level, usually non-sentient demon. It can appear human or not, depending on the creator's choices. In Hal's case, he shaped his body himself. Shikigami are (usually) non-sentient, since the demon used must be weak enough to stay bound to the vessel it's put in, which can be composed out of any element but is usually made of either some form of earth, or shaped from a corpse or corpses. The closest well-known analogue I can think of is the traditional golem; this version of shikigami is based on that from the manga Saiyuki, specifically the Chin Yisou arc, although I've adapted and expanded on it somewhat. 
> 
> fun fact: Dirk could have just made a golem to put Hal in (assuming he could've found a rabbi to animate it for him, which I suspect is easier than you'd expect.) It would've been just as effective, let him have almost the same form, and been slightly less difficult. However, Dirk is a weeb and an idiot.


	13. Chapter 13

You know exactly where you are, when consciousness comes back: on the ground in Dirk's backyard, with Karkat cradling you. Protectively? Possessively? Affectionately? You have no idea. He's making a deep rumbling sound in his chest, though; it's soothing and _safe_ and kind of makes you want to just stay here as long as you're allowed.

The demon you summoned—Kankri?—is talking. In the middle of a sentence, actually. Seems like he's been working on that sentence the whole time you've been out. 

"—not just a matter of consent but of _informed_ consent, Karkat, and there's no way you can convince me that he understood the possible ramifications of what he was doing—or rather, of what you did through him—and unless he's aware of both the risks and all outcomes, you're definitely skirting a fine moral line by using your lover to call me—" 

_Lover,_ you think, and try to pull away from Karkat even before you get your eyes open. _Nope, okay, no, how about fuck no, I can't—_

Kankri goes silent as Karkat growls at him. "You fucking _idiot._ " _Dave, are you okay?_

"Peachy." You get yourself to where you can sit up okay, scooting just a little bit away from Karkat. You _can't_ give Kankri reason to believe that what he just said has any basis in reality. Nope. Not allowed. _Can't._ "Not like I haven't passed out before, c'mon, happens all the fuckin' time and you know it—" 

"Dave." Karkat's eyes flick over to Kankri, then fix on you. _You know what I meant. You think I can't feel you trying not to flip the fuck out?_

_I'm not doing that._ You're a bad liar. "I'm _fine_ —"

Kankri makes an soft, dismayed sound, and you look over at him, momentarily distracted from the rest of your sentence. He's not even in the circle anymore; you can see the blurred spots where Karkat smeared the symbols into uselessness. No, the demon you just summoned is only a few feet away from you, arms crossed and hands hidden in his huge red sweater. His eyes are the same color as the fabric, just about the same as Karkat's...

...actually, no, _exactly_ the same as Karkat's. His features are pretty similar too, and his hair's shades lighter red but just as curly. _Kankri._ You heard that name before; on Karkat's lips right before he woke up and told you about his brother. 

Oh. The _angel._

You cock your head to one side and stare at Kankri for a second. Before you can say anything, he looks down, shaking his head. "My apologies." 

"Uh...what?" 

"I seem to have found one of your triggers; I assure you that it wasn't intentional, and I'll do my best to avoid causing you distress in the future. If you'll tell me what else to avoid, I can—" 

Karkat huffs in exasperation, crossing his arms. "That's a pretty fucking good way to upset him more, asshole." 

"Oh." Kankri blinks, frowning slightly, and you seem to see something bright start to fade into existence around and above his head. A halo, maybe? You're distracted from that, though, by the fact that the color is draining out of his eyes and leaving them as hypnotically white and blank as river-smoothed pebbles. 

"And you call _me_ out on consent shit," Karkat grumbles. He leans over, covering your eyes with one hand and pulling you around to face him instead of Kankri before letting go. 

"Wha—" 

"Trust me." _He's a seer. Unless you want him knowing shit about you, when his eyes change, you look the fuck away, alright?_

The thought of anybody doing that (well, anybody other than Karkat) makes you shiver as you glance back at Kankri. _Oh, fuck no._

The angel must see your reaction and at least kind of know what it means, because his mouth curves into a pained frown. "...no questions as to triggers, no reading them out of your mind. You certainly don't make this easy, Dave." 

"Sorry, dude." Okay, fuck it. You want to be in contact with Karkat; hopefully Kankri won't read shit into the fact that you choose to scoot back up to the demon, leaning against him. "I don't think I have triggers, if that makes it any better." 

Karkat snorts. Loudly. _Fuck, Dave, that's not even kind of accurate._

"Shut _up,_ it is too accurate." You shove at him gently, huffing as he shakes his head. _What the fuck are you saying I'm triggered by?_

"Can I tell _him,_ or just you?" 

"Uh." You look at Karkat. Then at Kankri, who looks slightly confused. _Telling him's fine._

Karkat nods and shifts to get his hands in front of him, ticking off points on his fingers. "Romantic or sexual shit, at least if someone's implying you're doing it. Blood, maybe; depends on how much and whose. Your scars being seen. Being touched by people you care about—" 

Okay, you're really fucking uncomfortable now, to the point where you want/need to not be in this goddamn situation. "...add 'talking about this' to your list," you mumble, carefully not looking at either the angel or the demon. "Let's, uh. Let's not do that right now, okay? Sound good?" 

"Of course." Kankri sighs; when you look up he's fidgeting with his sleeves, watching you and Karkat. "I'll try to stay away from those subjects, now that I know they're sensitive for you; I apologize for bringing them up in the first place, but it makes speaking with you so much easier—" 

"Like you've ever had a problem with _that,_ " Karkat mutters, and then twitches as you think _be nice_ at him. "What? I'm being nice to him. Do you see him complaining?" 

"If I was to complain about anything, I think it'd have to be the fact that I'm apparently only getting half of the conversation between the two of you." The angel's mouth quirks upward just a bit; you can just barely call it a smile. "I can't believe you've found someone you'll let into your head, Karkat, especially with how irritated you've gotten on the rare occasions when _I_ have to be there." 

Karkat growls, but it carries some of the tone of an exasperated groan. " _You_ try to fix everything you think is 'wrong' with me, dumbass. Dave's—" You get a jumble of thoughts from him in the brief pause: _better/softer/safer, I trust him/I love him/he's mine/I'm his_. Then Karkat just says, "Dave's different from you." 

"I can see that." Kankri shrugs slightly, and shakes his head. "Perhaps later we can expand upon that statement—" 

"How about, 'fuck no?'" 

"— _language,_ Karkat—" 

"Fuck you." 

(You're trying really hard not to laugh at Karkat's stubborn expression and Kankri's resigned one. It's a battle you're about to lose, at this point.)

"No," Kankri says, firmly. "You're _distracting_ me; is that really necessary?" This time he doesn't give Karkat a window to answer in. "Now, I know you didn't summon me just to meet your new...friend? Is that an acceptable term?" 

"Uh," you say. Nice and eloquent there. _Friend_ is a word, but there's a better one, you think. "Um...partner?" _You alright with that, 'kat?_

He tightens his grip around your shoulders with an almost imperceptible nod. _Trust me, that's fine._

"Ah. Well, I assume you didn't summon me just to meet your _partner,_ even if he is fascinating—" 

"Am not," you protest. 

Karkat grins and shushes you immediately, then looks back up at Kankri. "You're actually right for once in your fucking life, Kankri—I summoned you because I need a favor." 

"Of course." Kankri nods, lacing his fingers together in his lap and raising his eyebrows. "So. What sort of favor?"

* * *

Karkat explains, mostly. He knows what needs to be done; after all, he fixed _you_ , and Dirk and Jake have the same issues you did, currently. 

Well, the ones caused by the hybrids' song, anyway. Everything else is extra. 

Karkat lists the main issues so Kankri knows exactly what he'll find: memories of killing loved ones, implanted guilt, self-destructive patterns written into their minds. It's designed to make the victims of the hybrids either kill themselves or disconnect from reality to the point where they stop being able to function; the two guys who killed themselves did the former, and you very nearly did the latter.

Thank god for Karkat. 

Kankri's hesitant, for a minute. Hung up over some moral aspect that you don't get—something about the implications of adjusting another person's mind when said person isn't capable of consenting to it. Eventually, though, he just shrugs and agrees to fix Dirk and Jake, if it's within his power. 

The relief you feel when he nods and gets to his feet is almost physically painful. 

Hal doesn't even look up from his laptop when you walk past him; he's got his headphones on now, typing furiously onto the laptop that they're not plugged in to. Kankri gives him a curious look, but since Karkat doesn't pause, he doesn't either, following straight to Dirk's bedroom. 

Dirk hasn't moved at all. He's still perfectly still but for the rise and fall of his breathing, the brand-new scar from where Karkat healed him pale and too obvious just below his ribs. Kankri considers him for a long moment before nodding and putting his hands on Dirk's shoulders, leaning over him. 

You can see his eyes fade to white again. That's so fucking _weird._

Karkat chuckles as he catches the gist of that thought. _So you're fine with me fucking eating people, but Kankri using seer powers creeps you out. Good to know._

He's teasing you. Is that supposed to make you feel this happy? 

Before you can decide on an answer to that question for yourself, Dirk whimpers and tries to turn his head away from Kankri. He doesn't open his eyes, though, and quiets as Kankri murmurs something to him. Well, quiets for a second, at least, before Dirk groans and the angel inhales sharply and takes his hands away. 

For a second, you see great pale wings spread around Kankri, feathers brushing the ceiling and the walls, and a brightness that you can barely comprehend all around him.

Just a second. Then he's just a guy in a red sweater, shaking his head like a dog that's got water in its ears. "That was...interesting. I'm not sure when the last time I had to untangle low magic with that level of persistence and malignancy was..." 

"I did tell you it was going to be bad." Karkat glances at you, then steps up to his brother, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Can you handle doing that again? The other guy can wait, if you can't—we've got people who can keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't fuck himself up while you—" 

"The concern is appreciated." Kankri smiles, patting Karkat's hand and then sighing as Karkat immediately takes it away. "I'll be fine, if it's only one more. Perhaps you'd like to introduce me to him?" 

_Hey, Karkat?_

_Mhm?_

_Do me a favor—you talk to John about this, introduce him to Kankri for me, will you? I kinda. Almost shot John earlier, I wanna give him space for a bit._

Karkat snorts. "You do know he doesn't give a fuck about that, right? He knows you weren't of your own mind when you did that." 

"Yeah, but _I_ give a fuck," you point out, crossing your arms in a motion you know is more defensive than you need to be. _C'mon, please?_

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't do it. It's okay." Karkat's ability to do a complete 180 from irritated to gentle is nothing short of amazing. "Come _on_ , Kankri." And there we go, back to irritated. 

Kankri seems used to it, though; he follows Karkat out of the room, not looking back as you close the door quietly. The demon and the angel head towards John's room. You head for your own room. Hopefully Karkat'll figure out where you are when he's done.

* * *

Either Karkat doesn't take too long to help Kankri deal with Jake, or you spend _much_ longer than you should rearranging your weaponry. The gun you almost shot John with gets unloaded and put back where it goes, everything else gets straightened and checked to make sure that it's clean and ready to be used. 

...yeah, you probably just spend a long time doing that. Anyway. You're just shoving the boxes back under the bed where they came from, when Karkat opens the door. He steps over, offering you a hand up. "You okay? Kankri's fucking overwhelming until you get used to him—" 

He stops when you laugh. "Nah, man, your bro's cool. Like, he's weird as hell, but he's trying to be a good guy, right?" Karkat pretty much hauls you to your feet as soon as you take his hand. "He's, uh..." 

"Different." 

"Yeah. Where is he, anyway?" 

"Sleeping." Karkat shrugs, letting go of your hand and going over to sit on the bed. "Healing minds is just as hard as healing wounds. Maybe worse, I don't fucking know." _I can't do it, anyway._

"You fixed me." You sit down next to him and, after a second's hesitation, wrap an arm around him. The mildly surprised look he gives you is a nice reward for the action. "Like, at least twice." 

"Twice? Oh. The concussion. That's different. It's a fucking bruise on your brain; _that,_ I can fix." Karkat sighs, leaning into you as he thinks. He's warm. "Kankri...he can fix things, change things, in your mind. I can repair the structure of a brain, but that's about it." 

You have to consider that for a second before you figure out what he means. "You heal, he changes?" 

"He heals too." Karkat shrugs, eyes going dark for a moment. "Our powers aren't fucking clear-cut good and evil, trust me. If he chose to, Kankri could wipe someone's mind completely, just fucking...destroy their personality, leave nothing but hard-wired shit. Autonomic functions or whatever. It's the same for me; I could—" 

You get a flash of an image, one you don't think he means to send—a vague, half-remembered figure, taking one menacing step forwards and then just seeming to _dissolve_ , blood ripping itself out of everything else. 

"Fuck," you whisper, and Karkat winces. 

"Sorry. I can't—I didn't mean to let you see that shit." He shivers, more like an animal shaking off an insect than a human, and slips his arm around your waist. "It's fucked up." 

For some reason, you can't help but grin at that. "Damn, and I thought _I_ was the only fucked up one here." As Karkat raises his eyebrows at you, you shift to sit half-on his lap, shoving down the memories of Bro that're telling you that you're doing something you're going to be punished for. "Nice to know I don't really have the monopoly on that." 

Karkat blinks, then shakes his head, pausing to let you get settled before he wraps his arms around you. "Of _course_ you don't." 

"Mm." This is good. This is really fucking good. "...we should go tell Hal that Dirk's gonna be fine." Of course you have to try and mess it up. Of course. 

"Nope." Karkat shakes his head and tightens his grip on you just a little, not enough to be threatening. "He'll wake up in a bit; Hal'll see him then. You stay _here._ " 

"...alright." You have absolutely no problem with that.


	14. Chapter 14

It's a good two hours before Dirk makes his way out of his room, which means that you're actually in the kitchen, perched on the counter and watching Hal keep two separate chats going, review the damn footage he collected for the thousandth time, _and_ work on some kind of coding project at the same time. Karkat took one look at the shikigami's setup, shook his head, and headed over to start rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. 

Kankri's disappeared off to you have no clue where. You do kind of wonder where he went, though. 

Then Dirk steps into the kitchen, trying to gather his hair up into a ponytail again and blinking in just-woke-up bewilderment. "Who the hell is the guy asleep in the bathroom?" your cousin asks. "We didn't have—did we do something? Where the fuck did my shirt go? Hal. _Hal,_ you fucking asshole—" 

At this point you realize that you should probably alert Hal to the fact that somebody's trying to get his attention, since he's got his headphones on. He huffs and tries to snatch them back when you carefully pull them down, not looking away from the screen until he figures out you won't be giving up that easily. 

When he actually gets a look at Dirk, the shikigami relaxes. A lot. "Oh." 

"Yeah, 'oh.'" Dirk sighs and shakes his head, pulling out a chair to sit down in and absently tracing his fingers across the web of pale scars across his collarbone. "Did you take my shirt?" 

"That'd be Karkat." Hal closes down the screen that's full of cryptic coding shit, cocking his head. "Although to be fair, the shirt was pretty much totaled anyway." 

"...why, exactly?" 

Instead of answering, Hal asks, "What do you remember about what you've done today?" 

Dirk shrugs, brow furrowing as he thinks. "Got up. I didn't really want to, because Jake's prescience was being an asshole last night, kept me up talking about...damn." He shakes his head slowly, his hand moving up from his neck to his forehead. "A job, right? Getting rid of something—some kind of—siren? Except...fuck, Hal, what the hell happened?" 

"You don't remember that shit?" you ask him, frowning when he shakes his head. Weird. _You_ remember what happened, now; you got ambushed by what, four of those nasty hybrid things? No, five, because there was one that almost did take you out, after you killed the first one and the other three; you've only watched Hal replay the video of you stabbing the damn thing twenty times. 

Dirk just shakes his head, looking even more confused. 

_Not like you actually remember either,_ Karkat points out to just you, dropping what sounds like an entire handful of silverware in the sink and coming over to lean against the counter next to where you're sitting. "How do you feel?" 

"Confused, obviously." Your cousin shrugs, nodding at the video that's still playing on one of Hal's laptops: Jake reloading, hands moving too fast for the camera to capture as more than a blur, two of the hybrids dangerously close to him. "I'm, uh...I'm guessing we did the job, though?" 

"Yeah." _Karkat, what the hell do you mean, I don't remember? I remember fine._

"Why the hell can I not remember it, then?" Dirk asks, at almost the same time as you ask Karkat that silently. 

The demon huffs and crosses his arms, closing his eyes for just a second. You can feel him working out how to explain shit; it's like a mental sense of a deck of cards being tapped edgeways against a flat surface to order them. "Those fuckers take your short-term memory," he says after a second. "I'm immune, obviously, and so is Hal; the memory wipe's done through their song, and it doesn't do a damn thing to demons. Thankfully." 

_Yeah, or I'd be dead,_ you think, and you know that's true even though you're not sure why. "Dude, I remember, and I'm not—" 

"You don't remember, idiot." He says it with nothing but affection in his voice, though, and reaches over to pat your hand. "You've been sitting here watching what happened for what, half an hour? You see yourself kill the fuckers, so you know you _did_ kill them. That's what you remember." He frowns, and adds to just you, _Trust me, that's for the best._ I _remember what you don't—_

_How come?_

_Because. You showed me when you were fucked up over it, before I did damage control on your mind._

Hal sighs before you can tell Karkat that you do, in fact, want to remember all of whatever happened. You've been trying to figure out why the hell you nearly let that last hybrid take a chunk out of you, after all. When you look over at the shikigami, you see that he's torn between exasperation and amusement. "What?" 

"Isn't it usually considered rude to have a private conversation in a public setting?" 

Oh. Yeah. Maybe Karkat can split his attention well enough to hold a conversation through the empath link and pay attention to what else is going on, but you really can't. "Oops." 

"No oops. He can just shut the hell up." Karkat bares his teeth in a not-quite-grin at Hal, growling very softly with each word. "This barely counts as a public setting, anyway, and Dave's _learning._ You make him feel shitty about the fact that he _is_ learning, and you're going to regret it." 

_You're a protective asshole,_ you think at him. _I love it. Sweet as fuck._

That growl softens and turns into something closer to a purr for a second. _Good, because I'd rather not quit being a protective asshole to you._

As you lean over to run one hand through Karkat's hair and fuck it up as much as you can, Dirk points out, "I still don't have a fucking clue what happened. Or who the guy in the bathtub is." 

You don't have any idea what the answer to the second question is, but Karkat does. "That'd be my brother. He'll be fine, that's normal." He growls playfully at you, letting you mess with him for a second before ducking away from your hand. "Show him the videos, Hal. His and Jake's, preferably at the same time. Come on, Dave." 

You slide off the counter as the shikigami nods and starts tapping at his laptop. "Come where?" 

"To help me finish making food, duh."

* * *

For whatever reason, Dirk doesn't end up even kind of remembering the whole fight, even after watching the footage repeatedly. He flat-out refuses to let Jake watch it, either, and Jake doesn't really argue. It's weird, seeing how much he trusts Dirk. You're not really sure why. 

But Jake and Dirk are fine, and that's pretty damn important. Kankri sleeps for almost a full day, and when he does wake up he just sort of disappears. He's still around somewhere, close-ish—Karkat grumbles out a half-explanation, something about Kankri being more into the whole family thing than he is. Which you get. At least the angel's not being all that pushy about it right now. 

Anyway. Two days. You have godawful dreams that you can't quite remember, full of weird bright singing tones, but Karkat's there every time you wake up. You can't bring yourself to tell him _I love you_ again in return, which fucking sucks—that's what you're supposed to do, it's fucking _true_ —but he tells you he loves you, mixes that lil' statement in with the other soothing shit that he repeats until you settle again. It's...really good. You don't have words to define how good it is. 

Roxy shows up on the third day, about halfway through Jake trying to give Karkat another highly unorthodox tarot reading, both of them trying to ignore the fact that you and John are watching way too attentively, waiting to see what white card he's going to draw next. You just hope it's "Bees?" There's so many jokes that can be made from that card. 

When somebody knocks at the door, Dirk's the only one not currently focused on something, so he's the one who goes to answer it. You hear an excited squeal and Dirk go, "Hey, wait—" and then a loud-ish thump. 

John looks up. "Oh yeah...guess Rox came to pick Hal up before she goes over for the cleanup." 

"My future is _not_ fucking 'horrible laser hair removal accidents,'" Karkat snaps as Jake lays down another card. _Go say hi, Dave._

_You coming?_ You kind of wonder if he's worried about Roxy's reaction to there being a demon with you. You know _you_ are. 

"When Jake finishes this stupid thing." He growls and folds his arms, rolling his eyes as Jake adds _Intimacy problems_ to the spread. "English, I'm going to destroy your fucking Cards Against Humanity set. 

"It's John's," Jake points out absently as you get to your feet. 

"Do you think I care?" Karkat groans at the next card, and you have to resist the temptations to just sit down and wait for him to be done. 

_Stop being a clingy fuck,_ you tell yourself. Karkat probably heard that, but he makes the wise decision to not call you out on it. 

Roxy's more-or-less attached to Dirk in the doorway, arms wrapped around him and laughing in delight. The thump you heard was probably the briefcase lying on the floor where she dropped it. There's two slightly-confused-looking guys just outside, watching the two of them uncertainly. 

Well, it's nice to know that Rox hasn't changed beyond letting her hair grow out a bit and dying it bright pink. 

Dirk notices you standing there awkwardly after a second, and deftly extricates himself from her hold. "Yo, Dave." 

When she hears your name, Roxy's eyes go wide, focusing on you with an expression that's both surprised and (again) delighted. "Holy shit, Dave!" 

Oh fuck. 

She's got you wrapped in a tight, peppermint-scented hug before you can do more than open your mouth. Thankfully, it lasts maybe two seconds; then she's pulling back, holding you out at arm's length and grinning at you. Okay, the snakebite piercings are new, too. And cute as hell. "Damn, Davey, nobody told me you were here! Is Bro here too, then? Becuase if he is I'm gonna kick his ass for taking off for this long, making me miss out on the whole timespan when you _couldn't_ kick my ass—" 

"Translation to normal-people-speak: 'hi Dave, I missed you, you got taller,'" Dirk interjects dryly, retrieving the briefcase. "If you feel like kicking someone's ass, go after Hal, since he obviously didn't fill you in on, uh. Current events." 

Roxy glances at him, raises her eyebrows, and obviously sees something in his face that tells her to not ask. Instead, she grins at you again, letting go of your shoulders and instead slinging an arm across them. "Guess he didn't. Want to help me kick his ass, Davey?" 

"Nah." You have to grin back and lean against her. Dammit, you're still a hair shorter than she is. What kind of justice is this? "Maybe later. Or like, we can go find something that actually needs its ass kicked, let you take out your aggression on that." 

"Dirk would like that. Make me do the work." She gives him a wicked grin, squeezing your shoulders gently before letting you go and taking her briefcase back. "That'd mean he has to be the one who handles the aftermath, though, and I dunno how that'd work out." 

"Badly," Dirk supplies, leaning over to look past you, at the guys still standing outside. "You two know you're allowed to come in, right?" 

"Come in or wait, whichever you want, but I just wanna pick up Halexander and go do my job right now." Roxy smiles too-sweetly at Dirk, and laughs when he sighs. 'Yep, when I come back I'll be annoying the shit outta you for a couple days at least. My social calendar's clear, and I want to catch up with Dave." 

"Did I complain?" Dirk asks you rhetorically as Roxy brushes past him to get to the main room. He's smiling, though, just a little. 

"I don't think anybody wants to complain here," you tell him. Then you have to stop yourself from going tense in response to the very strong surge of surprise and startlement you get from Karkat. 

It's an understandable first reaction to Roxy's personality, after all.

* * *

What _isn't_ understandable is the fact that Karkat says he wants to ride along with Roxy for the cleanup. And that he _immediately_ tries to tell you that you need to not come along. 

You look at Roxy, try to decide if you're allowed to try and defend your point, and realize that you don't have to, at least not so she can hear. Instead of saying anything, you meet Karkat's eyes and frown at him. _I'm coming._

The demon opens his mouth and closes it again, scowling right back. _You're not fucking coming, Dave._

_You're not going without me._ You don't think about why exactly the thought of him going somewhere without you freaks you out this much. If you did think about it, you'd be admitting how fucking clingy you are, how stupid it is that you feel like if he leaves you'll never see him again. That you're going to be alone, no Bro, no Karkat—

"Dave," Karkat says softly. When you focus on him again, he continues. _I'm not going to leave you. You wouldn't be alone, anyway, there's Dirk—_

_Yeah._ That's your family, Dirk and John and Jake, Roxy and Rose, all the hunters. All the shit you've been told about being alone if Bro died or if you left him, that was bullshit. 

You know that. 

You also know that you're not letting Karkat walk out of here without you right now. Can't fucking do it. 

"I'm _coming,_ " you tell him again, and cross your arms and wait for the argument. 

Instead, he leans forward and cups your face in his hands, eyes searching your face. _There's going to be blood, Dave. I know you don't like that._

...yeah. There was a shitload of blood in the video, you "remember" how fucking messy everything was, but. _I'll be fine, man. Walking out is always an option, right?_

"Exactly. And if you need to take that option, you better fucking do it." Karkat nods and lets go of you, turning to Roxy. "So you have spots for Dave, me, and Hal, right?" 

She cocks her head to one side, looking between the two of you curiously, but nods. "Yeah, of course—worst case scenario is that Ethan or Rick rides in the back, but I'm pretty sure we have seats for everybody." 

Karkat glances at you, and the corner of his mouth twitches up the slightest bit. _You could always sit on my lap, Dave._

Roxy raises an eyebrow at your laugh, but she doesn't ask for an explanation. Just leads the way out to her vehicle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long gap between chapters...spring is hard.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for blood, violence, a shitton of dismembered body parts, and character death

The ride back to that damn mall is a little bit awkward. Both of Roxy's helpers give you wary grins and very obviously try not to stare at Karkat, which is kind of hard given that you're all in a pretty small space together. At least there isn't awkward silence; Roxy and Hal basically don't shut up the whole way, even though she's driving and he's assembling some kind of camera setup in the front seat. 

Hal's the first one out of the truck when Roxy parks it in the parking lot, too. The shikigami tosses you another one of those little fancy walkie-talkies, then tosses three more to Karkat as you fumble and try not to drop yours. 

"What, I don't get one of your toys?" Roxy asks, as Karkat hands two of the cameras off to the other guys. "Rude." 

"You've got the ultimate toy," Hal points out, rolling his eyes as one of the guys—Rick?—tries unsuccessfully to clip the camera to his shirt. "It's a pin, dumbass. Let Karkat help you— but _they_ get tech, _you_ get the tech master." 

"I _am_ the tech master," she corrects him, slipping past you to open one of the compartments and pull out a backpack. "Okay, so we know that there's _probably_ not anything too dangerous in here, since Hal tested the monster blood to make sure it wasn't corrosive or poisonous or anything—" 

You have to ask. "When the hell did you do that?" 

Hal grins wryly. "It was more of an observation than a test, Dave. You were _covered_ in it, and so was Dirk to a lesser extent. And Karkat told me he ate a few of those fuckers and didn't taste any normal toxic agents, so..." 

"Ooh." Roxy cocks her head, regarding Karkat for a second. "Ate like, just vored the whole thing, or partially consumed, took a couple bites out of, or what?" 

He just shrugs. "I mean, I usually can't swallow a whole fucking person, but there weren't any bits left if that's what you mean." 

"Seems hella useful." Roxy nods, handing the bag to Ethan so she can twist her hair back into a bun, securing it with the hairtie around her wrist before taking it back. "Definitely easier than hauling bodies off for disposal... _anyway,_ we have gloves, stuff to keep you from actually having to touch bodies because they're probably going to be kinda nasty at this point anyway—not as bad as they could be, though. You guys had the courtesy to have the killsite be indoors for once." 

"It wasn't exactly our choice," Hal points out dryly. 

"Yeah, yeah, it still counts." She shrugs, extricating and handing out a few pairs of maybe elbow-length rubber gloves, pulling hers on once everyone else has one. "Dave, Karkat—you don't actually have to help drag corpses out. That's what Ethan and Rick are here for; they do the heavy lifting, Hal checks everything out for any more info on what the hell y'all went up against here, and I do a lil' bit of both."  
Karkat just shrugs, examining the gloves for a moment before stowing them in his back pocket. "I'm fine with doing some of the carrying." Before you can say anything, he adds, _and no, Dave, you're not even offering to do that. Help out Hal instead._

You feel like you should argue with that, but instead you just huff and tell him, "Fine, alright." 

Everyone except Hal gives you a curious look at that. Oh well.

* * *

You have precisely zero memory of the layout of the mall. None of this is familiar, which is weird as fuck since you know you were definitely in here just a couple days ago. 

Karkat remembers, though. He leads right to one of the last doors on the end, opens it and steps out of the way so everyone else can go through first. 

You're the second one through the door. Hal runs into you, because you get one look at the blackish-brownish-reddish stains splattered across the white drop cloths and just fucking _freeze._

_Shit, shit, shit—did I do this? Did I do this? Did I—_

Karkat's hand closes on your shoulder before you can manage to break out of your own horrified paralysis, pulling you back out of the room. He steps in front of you, hands cupping your face gently, making sure you look at him and not back in there. Not that you want to look back in there. "Dave?" 

"Holy _shit,_ man." You made such a fucking mess. It'd be impressive, if it wasn't...what? Wasn't what? Those were monsters, things that were trying to kill you; why do you suddenly feel so goddamn guilty over the bodies? What the _hell_? 

"Holy shit is right." The demon frowns, letting his hands slip away from your face as Hal steps back into the hall. "How about you stay out of that room, huh? I can feel how much it fucks you up—" 

"Yeah. Yeah, man, uh." You kind of want his hands on you again, but you're okay. You're fine. "I don't know why it's like that, but you're right." _They're not anybody. I didn't fucking betray anyone, just defended myself, just did my damn job, it's fine, I'm fine..._

Karkat frowns and shakes his head, glancing over at Hal. "What're you doing?" 

"Getting out of the way before I end up helping move corpses." 

"Cool; take Dave with you." And he gives you a gentle shove towards Hal. 

"Wait—" 

_Please?_ he asks before you can finish protesting. _I don't want to have to fix your mind if being in there undoes how I fixed it before, okay? I don't want you getting hurt again._

Well, you can't exactly _not_ do what he wants when he asks like that. So you nod, step over to Hal's side, and watch Karkat slip back into the room with the bodies. 

"Question," the shikigami says after a moment. 

"What?" 

"Can you handle seeing the ones you _didn't_ kill, or do we just need to avoid corpses entirely?" 

"I'm fine, man." 

"Dave, if you get fucked up when I'm the one with you, several things are going to happen. First, Karkat's going to dismember me. Then, Dirk's going to rip apart anything Karkat missed. _Then,_ if by some miracle I'm still alive-ish, I'll be forced to kill myself for being a fucking idiot." He huffs, giving you a mock-glare that almost immediately melts into a quick smile. "In other words, I'm not letting all that happen. Self-preservation is one of my greatest talents, after all." 

"...yeah, I guess so." 

"So?" 

"Let's go check out the other bodies, dude. Worst case scenario is I freak out and you gotta call Karkat for backup, right?" 

Hal just sighs. "...I suppose so, yes."

* * *

You don't get the surge of horrified guilt from the other room Hal takes you to. Disgust, yeah—these must be the ones Karkat killed, because the three (you think) bodies are more-or-less ripped apart, blood and chunks of flesh everywhere. 

Gross. 

You can handle gross. 

The fact that you actually have gloves so you don't end up with blood all over you does help, too. Hal spends a few minutes examining the room before shrugging and starting to gather up all the various body parts into a pile close to the door. 

You don't miss the fact that he glances over at you every few minutes. Making sure you're okay with moving dead shit, you guess.

He's _not_ just making notes on how you're handling it. This _isn't_ a fucking test. You keep reminding yourself of that, that you're allowed to call a halt if you need to, walk out and not deal with the scent of stale blood and the sticky sensation of mostly-dry blood through thin rubber. This isn't a test. 

Yeah. You know. You do know that. 

Once the solid component of the mess is contained in one fairly neat pile, Hal strips off his gloves and calls Roxy to have her send one of the guys in to help bag it up. 

It ends up being Ethan, with a couple heavy-duty trash bags. He goes right to the heap and starts shoving shit into them. 

You try to help. You really do. 

What actually happens is that you lean down and get too fucking close to that much bloody meat, and very nearly just puke your guts out. As in, Hal steps away from the section of the wall he's examining and puts a hand on your shoulder out of concern for the sick choking sound you make as you back up. 

Ethan looks up at you, and for the second before he says anything you _really_ hate yourself. There's a fucking echo bouncing around in your head, more a tone than actual words—digust, annoyance, maybe a little hatred but mostly just something a little more fear-inducing than disappointment. How Bro sounds— _sounded_ —when you fucked up. 

Then Ethan says, "Hey, I can do this part, you know. I'm used to bagging up, anyway," and gives you a sympathetic grin. "Puking all over and then having to clean _that_ up is overrated anyway." 

"...yeah." Shit, you need to calm the fuck down. 

Hal still has one hand on your shoulder, and he uses that to steer you over to the wall he was examining. "Look at this." 

"At what?" He's just pointing at some dark splatter on the wall—not really anything new. There's blood pretty much everywhere, after all. "It's blood." 

"No, under the blood. Wait." He takes a step back, digs around in his pocket and comes up with a little flashlight, clicking it on and focusing the surprisingly-bright beam on the wall. "That's some kind of summoning setup, I'm pretty sure."

"Huh." He's right. Under the blood there's markings, just a shade darker than the white walls, almost invisible unless you really look. You look them over, finding the edge of the circle, and slide one glove off, reaching out to ghost your fingers over a section of the boundary that doesn't have blood on it. 

It buzzes under your fingers, a hell of a lot more than the wards at the house do when you pass through them. Enough to sting a little. 

You pull your hand away as soon as you're sure that there's power in the thing, and look back at Hal. "Dunno if it's a summoning circle, but it's live." 

"Hm." The shikigami frowns, blinking as he stares at the wall. "...that's not really good." 

"Yeah." Having active magic that you don't know what does is kind of bad. Leaving it for somebody else to find and trip off is a definite no. "Are we destroying it or trying to activate it, though?" 

"I'm not sure yet." Hal hands you the flashlight, digging in his pockets again to pull out a handful of what could be random objects—a small crystal, what looks like a USB memory stick, and some kind of small animal's bones. "Maybe both. Overcharging it and breaking it that way is a definite possibility, if I've got enough power stored up here." 

You have to point out the problem with that plan. "Isn't that just gonna activate it if you _don't_ have enough, though?" 

"...yeah." Hal moves the memory stick to his other hand, closes both hands around their contents, and looks over at you with a slight frown. "There's about a four percent chance that'll happen." 

"Only four?" 

"I've got a lot of stored power right here." He shrugs, turning his attention back to the wall. "But yes, four percent that I accidentally activate it and summon whatever it's set to call. Twenty percent that it needs a vocal component and absolutely nothing happens—" 

"It doesn't." 

"Oh?" He glances at you, raising an eyebrow, and you shrug. You don't know _why_ you know that; you just do. Something about the feel of the power against your skin. "...okay, so removing that possibility, there's about a thirty percent chance that the wall catches on fire or loses all stability or destructs in some other way—which would be fine; it's not a load-bearing wall, I don't think. Hm...sixteen percent chance there's some kind of explosion." 

"Why, exactly?" 

"Because magic is hard. Forty-six percent chance that I overload the thing and the power feeds back into these—" he opens his hands again, letting you see the three talismans for a second— "which is how it's supposed to work. It's good enough odds, I think." 

You really can't argue with that. The circle doesn't include a warding or binding component, so it can't be _that_ bad. "Yeah, probably. Even if you can't fucking add." 

Hal just grins. "The extra four percent is margin of error. Hey Ethan, heads up—I'm about to do something." 

The look of mingled curiosity and dismay on the poor guy's face is kind of funny. "That's vague." 

"Well, odds are you won't notice anything happening. Just in case, though, maybe you want to be weapons-out for the one-in-twenty-five chance something does." 

Ethan shakes his head and gets to his feet, taking off one glove and hiking up his shirt enough to get at the pistol at his waist. "Just in case." 

Yeah, you should probably have _brought_ a gun in the first place. _I'm a fucking idiot._

Well, it's only a four percent chance you'll need one. Cross your fingers. 

Hal takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, holding his hands up to the pattern on the wall but not quite touching it. You wonder if Ethan sees the faint, almost-not-there nimbus of light that seeps out between the shikigami's fingers. You're pretty sure he doesn't feel the sense of gathering power you're picking up, though; it's like lightning getting ready to strike. 

You catch yourself edging closer to the door. _Fucking coward._

Hal opens his hands, palms out and parallel to the wall. They're full of light now, the little items at the center of it lost completely. He flattens his hands against the wall, and the light's sucked into the pattern of lines there, scorching away the blood that lies over said lines. 

For a second, nothing happens. 

Then Hal takes his hands away, and the three talismans fall to the floor. 

"Is that a 'it worked' or a 'it didn't work?'" Ethan asks. 

Hal shrugs and looks over at you. 

"Uh..." This time, when you hold your hand up to the wall, the sharp buzzing sense is gone. There's still _something_ there, though—less a buzz than a hum, something deep and almost exhausted, fading with every second. Or maybe not fading, maybe more like it's draining away. Being drained.  
Shit. 

"Fuck—Hal, something's—" 

_Something's coming,_ you mean to tell him. Before you can finish, something behind you screeches and Ethan starts to shout something. Just _starts_ , though; before he can make anything like a word, before you can turn around, his voice cuts off with a choked sound. 

Hal spins around, staggering just a little, and you turn and almost trip as something hits your ankle. 

It's humanoid, but not a vampire. Not a siren, either, but pretty damn close; more reptile than mammal, long tendrils like lizards' tails in place of hair. _This_ one's intelligent, sentient, whatever—you can read the look of fury on its not-quite-human face as it glances down at the bloody mess at its feet and tightens its chokehold on Ethan's throat. 

_Shit—that's the mom, isn't it, we killed her kids and she knows it and she's pissed—_

Hal's hand goes down to his hip—he's got a weapon too, doesn't he?—and the creature he summoned screams again and hauls Ethan up a little higher, ignoring his attempts to pry its arm off his windpipe. He's a fucking human shield right now, and there's no way Hal can or will shoot through him. 

_We're so fucked._

Hal raises his hands and opens his mouth to say something. Before he can, the creature starts to wail. 

It hurts. It physically hurts. The sound's like a dirge and it's like a knife, and it slides in past your ribcage and wraps around your guts and just fucking clamps down, twists and doubles you up on yourself, brings you first to your knees and then shoves you down to curl shaking on the floor. 

_Like having my goddamn lungs ripped out,_ you think, as far as you can think, and force yourself to uncurl, at least _try_ to get the fuck up and go down fighting, make a fucking _effort_ even if it's a worthless one, even if you don't have a weapon—

Your hand hits a familiar shape. Cold metal, angles curved into the kind of grip that you're very used to. You close your fingers around it, and the years of training that's been beaten into you since you were old enough to hold a gun takes over, overriding the pain and confusion. 

You force yourself up to your knees, raise Ethan's pistol and sight for the creature's open mouth—from this angle it's a close shot to not hit Ethan, but not impossible—and pull the trigger, three times. 

The first shot takes the thing right in the face—messy as fuck, a great image that you'll be seeing in your nightmares. In the half a heartbeat between the first and second, the creature jerks, changing position just the slightest bit. 

Either the second or the third bullet takes Ethan right in the throat. 

_No. Oh, fuck, no—_

Something about your perception goes weird for a second, and when things straighten out, you're kneeling next to Ethan, hands soaking wet and too hot because this blood's _fresh,_ still flowing. He's bleeding, there's no real way that you're going to be able to fix this—

_Another one. I killed another hunter._

The door slams open and Karkat's beside you, his hands shoving yours out of the way to cover the ruined mess of Ethan's throat. The demon doesn't even look at you, but you can feel the wave of reassurance he sends at you in the second before he focuses completely on what he's healing. 

You can feel him trying. 

Then you feel his frustration, desperation, and anger that's not directed at you and still makes you flinch. That whole progression in maybe three seconds. 

Then Karkat takes his hands away from the open wound, sits back on his heels so he can wipe his hands on his jeans, and says very calmly, "I can't." 

"But—" _Karkat, what—_

He still doesn't look at you, but something shuts between you and him. It's like a wall or a a door, something heavy enough that he can keep you out with it. 

You're still trying to figure out how and why he did that, baffled enough on top of the rest of your serpents' nest of emotions that you're about to fucking cry, when he gets to his feet, stoops to lift Ethan's body, and heads out the door. 

Hal's saying something. Not to you. To Roxy, over the walkie-talkie. Then he gets ahold of your arm, tugging until you get to your feet. "We're done, Dave. Come on." 

He sounds completely neutral, and that _terrifies_ you. _I killed a hunter,_ you think again, and wonder how fucked you are. "We—" 

"We're going home." He pushes you towards the door, only taking his hand away when you're moving in the right direction. 

"The bodies." You're pretty sure Roxy's going to want the thing that almost killed Ethan, and there's still a fuckton of dismembered bits not yet in the bag. 

"I'll get the banshee. Don't worry about the others. _Go._ " There's emphasis on the last word, but no emotion. 

Because you don't want to be in this place any longer, and you do want to do whatever you're told (maybe if you don't resist the punishment will be less) you do what he says, and head for the exit.


	16. Chapter 16

Roxy and Karkat are already at the truck when you come out of the mall; she's trying to ask him questions, figure out what the fuck happened. You can tell that even before you get close enough to hear. 

The demon's just standing there, leaning against the side of the side of the truck and wiping his hands clean with an already-stained rag. He isn't really looking at Roxy, just shaking his head at each question; every time he moves, his form shifts, just slightly, back and forth from mostly-human to a little more demon. 

_Karkat?_

If he hears you, he sure as hell doesn't show it. Fuck. 

Roxy looks up as you get closer, eyes widening as she sees Hal behind you. The look on her face makes you want to turn around, look at the shikigami, face the fucking _consequences_ of what you've done, but. No. You fucking can't. "Holy fucking shit—Ethan—" 

You don't mean to even open your mouth. Stay quiet. Don't say anything, not until you're asked. 

You open your mouth anyway, and words spill out. 

"I killed him, it's my fuckin' fault, I fuckin'—didn't pay attention, didn't _aim,_ Roxy, I—" 

" _Dave,_ " Hal says, stepping past you instead of waiting for you to start walking again. He doesn't actually look at Roxy but heads for the back of the truck, lifting the limp body he's carrying up into it. (God, you're so relieved you can't see any of what you know has to be in there from this angle. You see anything else, hybrid corpses in any state of dismemberment, and you don't know what you're gonna do.) "Stop. This isn't on you." 

"I fucking shot him!" That comes out as a shout, and Karkat's head snaps up, red eyes fixing on you for a second before he looks away again. You have to force yourself to be calm, _quiet,_ in your next sentence. "I fucked up, I shot him, it's—" 

"Stop." Hal steps back around the side of the truck, shaking his head slowly. "One dead. One killed by a fucking banshee—which _you_ killed, Dave, thankfully before it could get around to taking out the rest of us—" 

"It wouldn't've done that and you know it." _How fucking dare you argue?_ your bro's ghost whispers in your head. You try not to cringe and keep talking anyway. "You—if I hadn't fucked up—" 

"I couldn't have done anything." The shikigami hesitates, hands opening and closing at his sides and eyes going unfocused for a moment. "I...fuck. I need to get back and have Dirk take a look at my hardware and software..." 

Roxy frowns in concern, stepping up to Hal and putting a hand on his shoulder, careful not to touch the wet red patch on his shirt. "How bad is it?" 

He shrugs, grimacing, then shakes his head. "It could be worse—something about the frequency of that bitch's cry interfered with some of my processes." Then he focuses on you, giving you a small, tight smile that doesn't quite seem forced. Painful, yes; fake, no. "Thankfully the exposure only lasted a few seconds." 

There's no blame on Hal's face, and even though you're pretty sure he's capable of hiding emotions and shit more than anyone else you've ever met, you're going to hope he isn't doing that right now. _Fuck, I'm not in trouble,_ you think with a surge of relief, and immediately feel almost sickeningly guilty for that. You killed somebody. You _deserve_ to be in trouble. 

Roxy looks from Hal to you, opens her mouth, reconsiders, and directs her question to the shikigami instead. "You think there's still dangerous crap in there?" 

He just nods. No hesitation. 

"Shit. Uh...give me a second." She sighs, running one hand through her pink hair and biting her lip as she thinks, then heading for the back of the truck. 

You glance at Hal—who's swaying a little on his feet, face twisted in what seems like concentration—then take a cautious step to stand next to Karkat. "Hey..." 

"No." He won't even _look_ at you. Doesn't even look up at all, just scowls and keeps his eyes fixed on the blood he's trying to get off his hands as his claws (definitely claws now, not fingernails, his form's still shifting but he's not dipping back down into what'll pass for human anymore) catch and tear holes in the rag. "Don't fucking talk to me right now." 

"But—" Your voice cracks. Fuck. _I need to talk to you, man, please, I'm sorry—_ Can he even hear you? 

Maybe. Probably, because he growls softly and pushes the rag into your hand, waiting for you to take it before he jerks his hands away. "Here. There's blood on your hands." 

"Karkat—" But the demon's already yanking the door open, climbing up into the cab of the truck and settling into the seat on the other side, every ounce of his body language screaming _don't you fucking touch me._

While you're still struggling to stay calm about all this shit, Roxy comes back around from the back of the truck with Rick in tow. The poor guy looks like he's going to throw up—one more thing you can't help but immediately categorize as your fault. He detours around to the driver's side, while Roxy comes over to you. "Dave?" 

"Y-yeah." Don't you fucking _dare_ stutter. "Yeah?" 

"Okay, so. Hal told me you were an empath, right?" Before you can follow through on your instinctive response (which is to fucking deny it) she holds her hands up. " _And_ he told me to keep my mouth shut about it, I know, you don't want to talk about it, but I'm gonna do something that might feel kinda fucked up if you got your magic-y eyes on, so like. Be careful. If turning off that extra sense is a thing you can do, do that, okay?" She blinks at you, tilting her head a bit. "It'd _really_ suck to have you and Hal both incapacitated over this fucking cleanup." 

_It already sucks, Rox, since I fucking killed one of your hunters..._ "Yeah. I'll be careful. Uh, what—" 

Roxy pats your arm and shushes you, nodding at the truck. "You can get a play-by-play later, alright? I wanna get Hal back and see how bad he's fucked up right now." 

She's right. God, you're a fucking idiot. 

Hal shakes off your offer of help getting up into the truck the first time, but doesn't protest when you steady him. He needs it, after all; the act of opening the door almost has him on the ground. He manages to get in with just a hand up from Rick, though, and you shut the door and get in the backseat. 

Next to Karkat. Or _by_ Karkat, anyway; you're halfway scared to get close enough to him to have a chance of touching him at all. That's how furious he looks. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dave, I'm not going to hurt you," he growls as you're fumbling with the seatbelt, sighing at how you flinch at that. "Fuck." 

_I'm sorry,_ you think at him, trying to listen for an answer, feel out any hint of what he's thinking or feeling. Any answer, you need a fucking answer, please...

But he just makes a small, miserable noise and shakes his head. "Like _you_ need to be fucking sorry..." 

_I don't understand._ You can't feel him. It's not like before, when all you could feel was absence—you feel _something,_ his presence and other, less concrete presences, like shadows in the dark—but it's still a bad feeling. Karkat's there, but he's cut you off. 

Your eyes hurt, enough that you turn your head to look out the window at Roxy instead of running the risk of having Karkat see you start crying like the useless asshole you are. 

...okay, what the _hell_ is she doing? 

Roxy's stripped off her shirt and dropped it somewhere, standing there maybe ten feet from the truck with her hands up at about shoulder level, facing away from you. There's a complicated black-and-green tattoo across her whole fucking back, lines that seem to twist and change as you watch. It hurts to look at for a moment; then something clicks together and you see what it is—a serpent, woven into a knot that's a rune that's pure _power_ worked into her skin. 

Behind you, Karkat hisses, and as Roxy brings her hands down sharply, the demon grabs the back of your shirt and yanks you around. The pressure on your throat is almost enough to make you panic, but as he presses one hand across your face, covering your eyes, you get what he's doing. 

Even turned away and with Karkat's hand over your eyes, you feel whatever the fuck Roxy does, see it as a silently blinding explosion behind your eyelids. 

Karkat lets you go. A minute later, you hear the door slam shut, and risk opening your eyes for a second. 

Amazingly, the building looks completely intact. If you hadn't felt the impact of whatever Rox did, you'd wonder if it'd worked. _Holy shit._

The fact that Karkat doesn't have anything to say about that actually hurts. You bite your lip and try not to too obviously press into the corner of the seat and the door, as Rick gets the truck started and pulls out of the parking lot.

* * *

Karkat gets the door open before Rick even gets the truck in park, stumbling as he steps down. And yeah, you should wait, make sure Hal doesn't need your help getting down, but. Fuck. 

You're not a good person. 

You slide out of the truck as soon as it actually stops, which puts you a good five steps behind Karkat. "Karkat, hey—" 

The wordless jolt of _no_ that he sends at you is enough to make you close your mouth so fast you catch your tongue between your teeth and taste blood. It's not enough to make you stop following him, though. You don't know if there's anything that'd do that. 

The door opens as Karkat reaches for it, and Kankri steps out, grabbing for Karkat's shoulders. "Look at me," the angel says, and is about to say more when Karkat snarls, pulls back and punches him hard enough to send him staggering backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling hard on the grass. 

"Shit—" Okay. Yeah. You'll stop for that. Karkat disappears into the house, and you kneel next to Kankri, not sure whether or not it's okay to touch him. "Fuck, man, are you okay?" 

The angel groans, pushing himself up and raising a hand to his face. "...I deserved that." He's bleeding from a split lip, bruises already rising around it, but beyond that and the dazed look in his eyes, he doesn't seem to be hurt. Could be worse. 

"Don't think you did," you tell him, then wince at the memory of the times you've had this exact exchange with somebody else, except with the roles reversed. 

_Stop it. Fucking_ stop _it, Karkat's not like Bro, he's not, he—_

"Dave, no, that's not at all what I meant!" Kankri reaches out to touch your shoulder, getting your attention away from your own rising panic and onto him. His eyes are blank and white again—he's seeing into you, isn't he? 

"Fuck—" You swat at his hand, looking down and covering your eyes with your own hands. It's a position that makes you think of those stupid no-evil monkeys; you must look like a fucking idiot. Bro would have some shit to say about this being the only way you could think of to get somebody out of your head, wouldn't he? " _...fuck._ " 

Kankri sighs. "Dave." 

"No. Don't fucking use that shit on me, don't—don't get in my head, don't you fucking—" 

"I apologize. I'd never go deep without express permission; I wanted to know what's gone wrong with my brother this time and skimming your recent memories seemed like the easiest course." Another frustrated sigh, and a feather-light touch on your wrist, like he's trying to convince you to take your hands down without either asking or physically forcing you to do it. "It was a mistake, I know, a _stupid_ one...I'll understand if you're upset with me, but can we put that off for the moment?" 

"...yeah." You lower your hands, blinking in an effort to clear your eyes. It kind of works, but the tradeoff is that you can feel tears running down your face. _Fuck._ Just tell him what happened, get done with this and go have a meltdown in private. "It, uh...somebody died, I ki—I fucked up a shot, killed a hunter, Karkat's—" 

_Karkat cut me off. Because I fucked up. Because I'm a fucking killer. Because I'm shit._ You'd say it out loud if your throat hadn't just closed up enough that you have to concentrate on being able to breathe, let alone talk. _And what if he never lets me back in? What if he leaves? What if—_

Kankri winces, pulling his hand away from yours. "David, I can't understand anything you're trying to send me, but I promise you that there's no reason to be as afraid as I think you are." 

"I'm not—sending? I don't understand—" 

"It might be because you're bonded with my bloodline, or it might simply be because we're both sensitive to the use of the same type of power, empathy and telepathy..." The angel sighs and shakes his head, wiping at his mouth. "...it doesn't matter, anyway—you need to go to my brother." 

God, you want to. "He doesn't want me, he—" 

"He _wants_ to punish himself for his perceived failing," Kankri interrupts. 

"He didn't—" _I'm the one who fucked up._

"Someone died, a death my brother thinks he should have prevented. I've _seen_ this before; you do understand that?" Kankri huffs, hands going up to tangle in his own hair, making more of a mess of it than it already was. "His inability to save absolutely everyone he believes deserves it, heal all the undeserved wounds—that's his worst trigger; he'll half-kill himself before he's satisfied with his penance, and it's _stupid._ He doesn't deserve this." 

Oh. 

You hesitate for a second, sorting shit out in your mind, forcing yourself to believe that no, you're not the one Karkat's angry at. Kankri opens his mouth to say something, and you wave your hand in a vague gesture that doesn't really convey _shut up_ but somehow still gets him to do it. 

"Do me a favor?" you ask him finally, getting to your feet and offering him a hand up. 

"If you're going to speak with Karkat, I think I owe you one." 

"Great. Go on and talk to Rox and Dirk, make sure Hal's alright." You pull him to his feet, taking a deep breath and stepping up to the door. "Maybe you can help him out, I don't fucking know..." 

"Of course." And Kankri heads for the truck, as you shut the door behind you and hope he's right about what Karkat's thinking.

* * *

You knock at the door to your room and get absolutely no answer, but when you go to open it, it's not locked. (Thank god. You don't know what you would've done next if it had been.) 

Karkat's sitting on the bed, his legs pulled up underneath him. He's...really fucking _other,_ right now; dark wings folded behind himself, one hand twisting a handful of the blanket up and the other tugging at his fucking _halo_ —and yeah, he told you he had one, but knowing isn't equal to seeing the damn thing, realizing that where you expected an angel's to be white, Karkat's is not black but some color that's deeper than black, shifting through the potential of everything on the spectrum. 

His eyes are closed, face drawn up in a pained grimace, but they snap open when you shut the door. You want to flinch back from the bloody fire in his eyes, and you don't allow yourself to. 

Instead, you come and sit down on the bed, not-quite-touching him. The stupid fear that you're still feeling won't let you do that, not yet. "Hey." 

Karkat just stares at you for a moment, then closes his eyes again, going back to yanking at his halo. It only moves a fraction of an inch in response to his efforts, despite not being tethered to anything, but you can see the way his face changes every time he gets it to move at all. He's _hurting_ himself. 

"Man, no, fucking—stop it." His claws scare you so fucking bad—they're bloody red, too long and too obviously razor sharp. You don't want to even think about what they'd do to your skin. "C'mon, please..." 

_Please don't hurt me,_ you think, and reach up to wrap your hand over his, trying to keep him from pulling at his halo any more. 

Karkat's skin's hot, his claws almost burning, but his halo is...cool. Or not cool, but neutral, no temperature at all, buzzing against your hand at the few tiny places you make contact with it instead of with his hand. 

It feels like him. It feels like pure magic. It hurts, a little, because he's hurting, and after only a second you start feeling dizzy enough to almost _need_ to let go. 

There's no fucking way you're just letting go and giving up, though. _I'm the reason for this whole shitshow—if I hadn't fucked up, pulled the fucking trigger, there'd be no reason for him to feel like this._

Karkat growls, very softly, and shakes his head, trying to pull at his halo again and going still when you resist the movement. "Don't you fucking dare," he mumbles. 

"It's true."

"Not it's fucking _not._ " He cracks his eyes open just enough to look at you, reluctantly relaxing his grip on his halo so he can get ahold of your hand instead, claws grazing the back of your hand. He doesn't cut you. You didn't think he would. "You didn't do anything wrong." 

_I'm the one who killed him, 'kat. Not you._

"Stop it." Another growl, louder this time, and his free hand moves up to the back of your head, slow enough that you have time to keep yourself from flinching at how close his claws are to your carotid artery. When he actually touches you, its not hard to lean into his hand, though, and he sighs at that before gently pulling you close enough that he can lean forward and press his forehead against yours. "You kept everybody else alive." 

"Killed a fucking hunter to do it." Shit. You close your eyes, letting the hand that's not holding Karkat's clench into a fist. _Karkat—_

"Shhh." He sighs, hand tightening around yours, and the barrier he's raised between his thoughts and yours melts away. _I could have saved him. Just a couple fucking seconds sooner—_

_Stop!_ You are fucking crying. Yeah, you can keep it silent, but you can't make it stop. _How the hell can you put this on yourself?_

"It's not on _you_ —" 

_I pulled the fucking trigger. If I'd waited you would've—_

Karkat snarls, deep in his throat, and you get an image from him—opening the door, ripping the banshee's head off, and knowing it doesn't fucking _matter,_ because the banshee was the only thing in the room that was still alive. " _No._ Don't even think that. Don't you fucking dare, don't you dare get killed, don't—" 

He's. Crying. 

That _hurts._

You twist your hand free of Karkat's, hissing as you scrape yourself on his claws, and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Where your hands brush against them, his wings feel like velvet. 

It's surprise that makes him freeze for a second. You can feel that. And it only lasts a second before he's got his arms wrapped around you, wings unfolding and resettling to close around you, keep you close and safe and wrapped up in him even as he starts really fucking sobbing against you. 

You don't know what to do. 

But you don't need to know, because Karkat knows what he wants from you. What he needs. And it's what you need, too—just to stay here, hold him and be held by him, cry and listen to him cry until you both manage to stop a little. 

Takes a while, but it happens. 

"Karkat?" When he opens his eyes again, you free up a hand to touch his face, wiping some measure of tears away. "You tell me you failed again, I'll fuckin' fight you. Love you too much to let you say that shit." 

He nods, just a little, and pulls you in closer. "I love you." _You know I might think it._

"You're the one who said stupid shit's gotta be pointed out." You should get up. Find out what's going on with the others. Instead, you lean into Karkat and get both arms around him again. 

A minute. You can have a minute with him.


	17. Chapter 17

After an hour of being hooked up to three laptops, Hal's okay. Which is definitely a fucking relief—you got one person killed; letting Hal get hurt too would be worse than you even want to think about. 

But no. 

Roxy just spends about an hour focused on tweaking the shitton of code displayed on the computers that're connected to the cable that's (somehow) connected to Hal's wrist, glancing over at him every couple minutes to see if he's doing anything other than sitting there and slowly blinking like he's an inch from falling asleep. Then she saves all the changes, unplugs him, and ruffles his hair before she starts packing up the electronics. 

Hal shakes his head slightly, rubbing at his wrist where the cable went it, and finally focuses. On you, actually. "Hey." 

"Yeah, hey." You can't really tell what he's thinking, and that's more than a little worrying despite the fact that Dirk, Roxy, Karkat, and even Hal himself have already reassured you that you're not up to be punished here. "So she fixed you?" 

"Mhm." He nods, holding his hand out and experimentally wiggling his fingers. Now that you're actually looking, you can see the mark like a tattoo or a dark scar in the shape of a USB port just below his palm. "Defragging base routines sucks, but at least the corruption didn't have time to reach anything irreplaceable." 

You cut him off before he can do more than open his mouth for the next sentence. "Don't you fuckin' dare say I did the right thing, man." 

"I was actually going to thank you—"

" _Don't_ do that—" 

"—and apologize." 

What the hell? "I don't get why _you_ would need to do that." _Wait. Fuck._ You shake your head, just a bit, hopefully not enough for the shikigami to notice, and close your eyes. _Wrong fucking emphasis._

"Well." 

When he leans over to touch your hand, you open your eyes again. The look on his face is _still_ unreadable for a moment, until he blinks and very obviously makes an effort to let you see something other than his normal calm mask. 

Okay, yeah, that makes it worse—why the hell would he be that guilty? 

"I _was_ the one that summoned the de—the banshee." Even though he catches himself, doesn't actually call the thing you killed a demon, you still see him wince. "As in, if I had had a fucking modicum of sense, none of this would have happened." 

"That's not—" 

"Unless you have an argument beyond blaming yourself?" Hal shakes his head and crosses his arms, glaring at you for a second before he wipes most of the worry and pain off his face. "Shut up." 

Fuck. "And let you try and take the fucking blame?" 

"The difference between you and me is that I've come to the conclusion that bad shit happens sometimes, Dave." Hal shrugs and gets to his feet, wobbling for a second before steadying himself with a small frown. "Dammit—but it's not about blame; it just _happens._ Talk to Jake about levels of predestination, sometime." 

"About what now?" Except Hal's already heading out of the room and you just get a shrug in answer. 

...okay. 

_He's right, though,_ you think, and immediately wonder about whether you actually have a right to think that. _Hey, actually? Fuck that. I can think what I want to think, can't I?_

Well, you don't exactly _want_ to think that this clusterfuck wasn't your fault. 

Then again—

"It wasn't," Karkat murmurs from right behind you. You feel a quick flash of surprise from him when you jump. "It wasn't your fault." 

"Not yours either," you point out as he leans against the back of your chair and rests his chin on top of your head. 

"...alright." _So,_ he asks in your head, the tone less a question than a gentle prompt, _whose fault would it be?_

You know what he wants you to say. 

You kind of have to admit that he's right, too.

"...nobody's fault." He hums softly when you lean back against him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Or the fucking banshee's, I guess." 

"Yeah. Exactly." Karkat makes that deep growling sound that you've tentatively identified as a purr, and lets you go. "Come on. We both should eat; John and Dirk made food." 

You kind of don't want to eat, but you don't have to dip into the demon's mind to know that he isn't going to just let you brush him off. Plus, if you do what he wants you to do—what you probably do actually need to do—he'll be willing to come back into your room and curl up on the bed with you sooner, let you calm down with him there. 

"I mean, you're right, but I'd do that anyway." Karkat rolls his eyes and pulls you to your feet, steering you towards the kitchen. "Now come on." 

"Yeah, man. I'm coming."

* * *

Later, when you do end up curled on top of the demon, it takes you fucking forever to actually sleep. You don't know why, and thinking about why probably is part of the reason it's so damn hard. 

It's not because you don't feel safe. You do. Karkat makes you feel safe, everything about him reminds you that most of the shit you fear won't happen again, can't happen again. 

You don't think it's because you're fucked up over Ethan. (Well, maybe it is. But you...you'd expect yourself to just try and sleep and not have to fucking consciously face the fact you killed someone. That's been your basic reaction when you've been fucked up over kills before, of demons and shit.)

(...okay, you absolutely hate that you have such a thing as a basic reaction for deaths you cause. Objectively, that sucks.)

"Dave, stop fucking _thinking,_ " Karkat mumbles sleepily, shifting under you and nudging at your mind a little.

"No can do, 'kat." Do you want him in your head? You don't _know._ " 'm just a lowly human; not like I can turn off my brain on command like some kinda—" 

He growls, in what you think is amused irritation, and _pushes_ against your mind. As soon as you instinctively open up, stop trying to keep shit hidden from him, though, he lets the pressure dissolve and just waits, letting you feel him. 

_Calm. He's calm, relaxed, tired out and unable to sleep because he can feel me—_

"Man, if I'm keeping you awake, I'll go—" 

"Shush, Dave. Shush." He pets through your hair, eyes still closed, and pushes at you to listen to his mind again. 

_—can't sleep yet, but it doesn't matter because he's patient, willing to lie here and wait for me as long as he has to. There's nowhere he'd rather be, and there's no danger that'd mean he needed to move._

...okay. Okay. 

He's right. Everything he's thinking is true; there isn't danger, there isn't anything happening right now. Karkat's relaxed, and you need to relax too. He's relaxed, so you're _allowed_ to relax. 

"Damn right you're allowed to fucking relax," Karkat mutters, pulling you up a little so you're in a better position for him to be able to keep running his fingers through your hair. Damn, he already knows what calms you down. "It's okay, Dave. It's okay." 

"Yeah, I know..." Okay. _Now_ you're falling asleep. 

And he knows it, because he's fucking purring again.

* * *

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck..._

_You're holding him, and he's too limp. You're holding him, and your hands are wet. You're holding him, and everything is black and white and shades of grey but for the fucking_ blood.

_That's red. It's so red, all over you, all over_ him, _hot and red and not spurting anymore, not even flowing, it'd be_ better _that way because you'd know he was still alive. If blood's forcing its way out of his body, he's alive._

_But it's not._

_There's a bare trickle from his gaping wounds—and is that really surprising, when you think about how much he's bled out onto you already? Even if he wasn't dead, he can't have much blood left in him, maybe not any, and if you hadn't let him bleed this much—_

_If you hadn't fucked up—_

_If you hadn't let Dave die—_

Wait, what? No. That's not right. 

You know you're not dead. 

That confusion is enough to disconnect you from the dream—from _Karkat's_ dream—let you pull away and shake yourself awake. You can feel him figure out that he's dreaming and jerk away from it too. 

Damn, but he feels relieved, even before he's all the way awake. 

"Hey—" Okay, your voice doesn't really want to work right, so you shake your head and push yourself up off him a little, trying to see his face despite the dark. _Hey, man. You okay?_

"Don't be a fucking idiot." There's a roughness in his voice that isn't a growl. After a second, you realize that you can, actually, see his eyes. Nothing else, though, because the only reason you see that much is that they're glowing slightly. "It's a dream." 

"Nightmare." 

Karkat shivers, just slightly, and shifts to reach up and lay both hands against the sides of your face. He blinks a couple times, eyes flaring a little brighter each time they open, then sighs, long and slow. "Nightmare," he agrees. "Not the worst one...you stopped the fucker before it got really bad."   
Now it's your turn to shiver. "They get _worse_ than that?" You don't know what would count as worse than the despairing horror that dream was soaked in. 

"Sometimes. Not often." Karkat sighs again, taking his hands away from your face in favor of wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down again. For him, you're more than willing to go. "It's—this isn't a regular thing, I swear, I—I just fucked up, bad. Right now I'm fucking terrified I'll do it again, I guess." _You'd be the worst thing I could lose,_ he adds silently. 

"Not gonna lose me." _Don't wanna lose you either._ You don't know how to explain to him that you first mistook that dream for reality—the worst fucking feeling you've ever had—and then for _your_ dream. " 's'okay, 'kat." 

"I know it is. Just a dream." But he shivers again, the small motion pretty damn apparent when you're pressed against him like this, and tightens his grip on you the smallest bit. "Just a fucking dream." 

"Mhm." You don't know how to project feelings at him like he did at you earlier. You still try, though, doing your best to think calm and reassurance at him, and after a moment, he does relax. "Sleep?" 

"Sleep," he agrees, and settles against you. 

After awhile, you can feel that he did fall asleep again, and you let yourself do the same.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for flashbacks about halfway through; that's what's italicized.

Hunters don't have funerals. You don't bury the body of someone who's spent any measurable fraction of their life killing demons and beings of that ilk; that's dangerous, that's fucking stupid. Dead hunters are cremated, their bodies destroyed and spirits freed to do whatever the hell the spirits of the dead do. 

(You kind of really hope that yours just _stops,_ whenever you die. Or stays with Karkat. One of those two options.) 

Anyway, Ethan doesn't get a funeral, but there is a memorial, after his body's been reduced to a container full of ashes and when Jake and Hal have had time to inform all hunters in the area that it's necessary to honor one who's fallen. Dirk repeatedly told you that you didn't have to go, nobody's going to blame you for not attending the damn memorial, but fuck. You needed to do this.

So here you are, in a room with too fucking many armed hunters, _without_ Karkat. This shit isn't fucking safe for him; even if he passes for human, he's still a demon, and even if you have Dirk's promise of his safety, you're still afraid he'd be hurt. You're not even totally sure where he is right now—somewhere close, you guess, since you can feel him in your mind if you strain. 

Not that you're going to do that. If he realizes just how nervous you are right now, he'd be right here at your side in a second. 

You kind of want him to do exactly that. 

_Stop it, you fucking idiot. Everything's fine, why do you need him to come bail you out right now?_

Hm. Maybe because people keep recognizing you? Maybe because five separate people have asked you about your goddamn _Bro_. So far, there's been somebody near you to dodge the question so you don't have to stammer and try not to fucking freeze up—Dirk twice, Hal, John, and Roxy once each—but eventually somebody's gonna ask, and you'll be standing there alone, and you're going to fuck up answering. 

There is no way you can answer that doesn't count as fucking up.

_Need to calm down._

Yeah. You do. No. You can't. 

There's a lot of people here, feeling a lot of shit. They didn't all know Ethan, but even the ones that didn't have a deep, visceral reaction to knowing that a fellow hunter died. 

( _And what would they think of me if they knew I got one killed? Not just Ethan, maybe they could justify that, but. But_ Bro.) 

Stop. Fucking stop. 

Almost nobody knows about that. The ones that do, they don't hate you for it. You can't feel one ounce of hatred or blame directed at you, by anyone here. 

_Shit, when did I start being able to feel shit this clearly from anyone other'n Karkat?_

Probably when you made the dumbass decision to walk into a building full of emotional people, you guess. You keep getting flashes of what everyone here is feeling—it's so fucking overwhelming. 

"Are you alright?" Jake asks when you take a step back to put your back against the wall. As you press your hands against your eyes—too hard; it hurts and you're seeing stars instead of the desired darkness—you get a flash from _him_ : a mix of concern and the knowledge that he's currently the one who needs to keep everybody else from harassing you. 

_Wait, they're doing that on purpose? Intercepting the questions about Bro? Damn, why?_

"Davey, you look like you're about to lose your lunch," Jake points out. 

Well, he's not wrong. _Davey._ You want to throw up at that name. Usually, you've only heard it in very specific circumstances. 

"I'll be outside if you need me," you tell him, and then you're headed for the exit, slipping through gaps in the crowd that Jake might not even see and (thankfully) managing to not brush against anyone. These are hunters; if you make too much contact you're going to get grabbed, stopped, maybe asked what's going on, and that's not the kind of thing you can handle right now.

_Holy fucking shit, listening to this many people's emotions at once feels like fucking dying,_ you realize. You're not dying, though. You can't _think,_ but you're not dying. 

_Dave?_ Karkat asks as you push the door open and slip outside. _You need me?_

You do. You do fucking need him. Instead of telling him that, you let out a shaky sigh and start walking along the side of the building. 

"No, man, you stay clear of here, alright? Too many hunters." You mumble the words, keeping your mind open to Karkat to be sure he can hear you. "I'm fine, it's cool, it's all good—" 

_Liar, liar._

"Okay, so I'm rattled. Doesn't mean anything, you know that that's just about my constant state of being right now—" 

_Yeah, sure, but it's my fucking_ job _to get you_ out _of that state, and you know it—_

"How is that your goddamn job, asshole?" He'll know you don't really mean the insult. Can't help knowing, with how wound up in your thoughts he is right now. "I'm not—" 

_My responsibility? You are, actually, and there's nothing you can do about that, so—Dave? Dave, what the hell's wrong?_

You shake your head and do your fucking best to shut your mind to him, taking a step toward the wall and leaning against it. You're okay, you're fucking _fine,_ the fact that you can smell cigarette smoke shouldn't do this to you, shove you into a state that isn't _fight_ and isn't _flight_ , a third evolutionary imperative that could just be called _submit._

A scent shouldn't just slam down memories on you like this. This isn't _normal._

_He smokes when he's drunk. Only when he's drunk, not fighting-drunk, not passed-out drunk, only when he's a little drunk and doesn't plan on taking it any further. If he's got his shades on, you're okay,_ maybe _you're okay, there's less of a chance that he'll stub his cigarette out and give you a slow, friendly grin._

_You're terrified of that smile._

_It's the kind of smile he could pick up a girl in a bar with, or a guy if he wanted that—the word that comes to mind is_ charming, _and damn but he can be charming, but beyond that smile he never bothers to turn it on you. He drinks, he smokes, he stubs out his fucking cigarette in the ashtray that he carries because hotels don't keep them in the rooms anymore. He smiles at you, your fucking Bro smiles at you, he shifts on the bed and jerks his head to say that now you're expected to come sit by him, and when you do?_

_Well._

_Either he'll do it or he'll lean back and nod at you to do it yourself, but either way your clothes come off, slowly enough that by the time you're naked for him you just want him to fucking_ do _it, you want this to be_ over _when he's barely even started, before he really even touches you—_

Somebody actually does touch you, in the here and now instead of just in the too-vivid memories your brain's throwing out, and you flinch back hard enough that the back of your head slams against the wall you're leaning on. Damn, you didn't even realize you were staring down at the ground, or that you were zoned out badly enough to not hear somebody come up on you. 

_Shit._

Okay, focus. Don't think about Bro. Or hotel rooms. Or cigarette smoke. Nope, none of those. Just focus on who the hell has one hand on your shoulder—

"Dude, holy fuck, are you okay?" the guy asks, and you look up into eyes that're the same red as yours and _immediately_ close your own eyes. "Wait—Dave?"

"Fuck. D." You get that much out, realize that the rhythm of your breath could easily be called a panicked panting, and have to stop to get _that_ under control. 

"Yeah, dude, didn't Dirk tell you I was coming? Fuck, are you going to be alright?" 

" 'm fine—just rattled, I guess, it's all good..." The fact that D's got his hands on your shoulders is actually helping, despite the fact that he's standing in front of you when you've got your back against the wall so he's effectively blocking any chance you have of fleeing. Okay, don't think about that either. "It's cool. I'm okay." 

_Nope, I'm not even close to okay._ Karkat's going to be pissed that you cut him out, but you drop your mental barriers and reach for him anyway. _Hey. Karkat?_

_Right here._ There isn't any hint of annoyance that you can feel in his thoughts. Reassurance, concern, a promise of safety now and as long as he's there, affection, but nothing like the anger you kind of expected from him. _Say the fucking word and I'll come beat the shit out of whatever's fucking you up, I swear to any god you want to name, I don't care how many hunters there are—_

"You don't gotta do that, 'kat, I'm okay." D raises one eyebrow at that, and you bite your lip and switch to speaking without speaking. _Well, close enough to okay. Need you for a second, is all._

_I'm coming._

"Don't you dare—" Dammit. D's looking weirdly curious. Of course he is; you keep talking to somebody who isn't here. _This is good enough, man._

"Dirk wasn't kidding when he said you were an empath, huh?" D says thoughtfully, offering you a small smile when you actually focus on him again. That smile evaporates after a second, though, leaving a concerned frown. "Wait, fuck. Did he seriously make you come to the memorial?" 

"Nobody made me—" 

"I'm gonna kill both of 'em—Dirk, Hal, all of 'em." D shakes his head, running one hand through his pale blonde hair and ruining the fair semblance of order he'd managed before, and taking a step back from you. (You hope you're not projecting your sense of relief enough for him to feel it. Karkat's projecting exasperation at you for feeling the need to cover up your relief at all.) "They told me this shit's new for you; why the ever-loving _fuck_ would they make you handle this kind of shit right off the bat?" 

"Dude, fucking _chill,_ okay?" Shit, you haven't talked to D for what, eight years? And the first thing you're gonna do is get in a fight with him. 

_This isn't exactly a fight, Dave._

"Shut up, Karkat—D, c'mon, you really think they'd make me do anything?" 

He huffs and crosses his arms. "Yeah, actually, I think my lil' bros can be as manipulative as hell when they think they gotta be. Especially Hal. I mean, Dirk tries to trick people into doing shit, but he's fuckin' awful at it. No offense—it's actually kinda a good thing. Means I don't gotta watch my step quite so much around the kid, right? He's—" 

_Do you think he'll stop on his own?_ Karkat inquires curiously. 

"I'm like eighty percent sure he won't, no." D's always been prone to getting off on tangents. It was cool as hell when you were a kid; hanging out with him always lasted way longer than expected, and Bro didn't give you shit for it; maybe he was too scared to. You know that D's one of the best hunters alive; even if the main traits of his that stick in your mind are his patience with kids, his ability to get sidetracked, and his tendency to turn up with weird and interesting objects, you still know that he's fucking _deadly._

He's also still rambling about Dirk and Hal. "Yo, D. Earth to D?" 

"Yep." He blinks, grins, and runs a hand through his hair again, messing it up even worse. "Whoops." 

"Nah, man, you're good. Just—" Damn, what the hell can you even say to him? Just say something. "Thought you were out of the country?" 

D winces and nods quickly. "Yeah, but the key word there is 'was.' When somebody I helped train gets killed, the least I can do is show at the memorial." 

_Dammit._ "Ethan was one of yours?" 

"Yeah." Another nod, and a sigh from him. "I mean, I was on my way back anyway, since Hal 'n Dirk said you turned up again, but this shit made it urgent. Fucking _sucks._ " 

_Dave,_ Karkat says reasonably in your head, _you don't have to fucking say what I know you're about to say—_

"Did they tell you what happened to him?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. _D doesn't know I killed him, he wouldn't be talking to me if he knew, he—_

_Goddamnit, Dave,_ Karkat thinks at you wearily at the same moment as D nods and says, "Yeah, man, Hal gave me the play-by-play. He also told me you'd be fucked up over it—"

Oh, yeah, that's a really fucking true statement. "Sorry," you mumble, to both Karkat and D, and close your eyes, leaning against the wall again and opening your mind to the demon as much as you can without flipping places with him. 

_Dave, what the hell? I'm coming._

"You're gonna get hurt." 

_Shut the fuck up._ That doesn't come across as aggressive as it probably would out loud. _Nobody there is going to hurt me, calm down. It'll be okay._

_Let me get somewhere away from people—_ Yeah, right. No way are you walking anywhere; D's already guiding you down to sit on the ground and lean against the building, which is good since you were pretty fucking close to falling for a second there.

_People? What people?_

_Hunters._

_It's you and your whoever-he-is, Dave; I can tell he's related to you and Dirk and I really fucking doubt he'd hurt me._

" 'kat, please, he's a _hunter_ , he can kill you—" You hear the pleading note in your voice, realize that last bit was out loud, and wince, opening your eyes to look up at D. 

He stares back solemnly, the sight of his red eyes reminding you that you shouldn't've worn your goddamn shades to the memorial; who the fuck does that? One more way you're a fucking disgrace—

"Dave, hey." You flinch even though he keeps his tone gentle, because gentle is the last thing you expected. "You think I'd hurt your demon?" 

"Dunno." Yes you do. You do think he'd hurt your demon. Hurt Karkat. "Bro—he would've."

"So?" 

"Same people trained y'all." Close your eyes. Don't look at him. "You—he—it's hunter shit, okay, you kill demons, this isn't _right,_ I'm not fucking right—" 

"Holy shit, kid," D says quietly, and the ghost of Bro that lives in your head starts snarling at you for presuming to fucking _cry_ in front of everyone, and you just want the earth to just fucking swallow you whole. 

That lasts a minute. Maybe more. You have no idea. 

Then Karkat's next to you, pulling you into his arms and giving D short, distracted answers to the questions he asks about if you're gonna be okay. 

They don't fight. You expected them to fight, you really fucking did. 

God, you're so relieved you don't want to do anything but press against Karkat and not think for a second. Since the demon and D are talking and not expecting you to join in, that's precisely what you do.


	19. Chapter 19

Eventually, you tune back into things that're happening around you. Karkat can tell exactly when you do that, too; he stops in the middle of a sentence, wrapping his mind around yours and checking you pretty fucking thoroughly for mental injuries.

_I'm fine, man, c'mon_ , you tell him, and immediately undermine that statement by flinching at the sound of a lighter being flicked. It's just D, you ascertain by the simple method of looking up at him, but holy shit the combination of that noise and the faint scent of tobacco catching...

Karkat growls, deep and rough, and pushes a wave of calming safety into your mind. "Put it out," he says sharply. " _Now._ " 

"What—" D gives him a purely confused look, then seems to remember the existence of the cigarette he just lit. "This?" 

"No, fuck-for-brains, the dim fucking bulb you call your intellect—of course that!" The demon huffs and pulls you closer, glaring up at D. "My brother would be giving you a lecture on triggers and shit right now, but I'm fucking not him, so all I've got to say is that you're going to get rid of that, right fucking now, because if Dave has another panic attack I'll be taking it out of your hide—" 

_I don't have panic attacks, he's not trying to hurt me, and you need to chill,_ you think at Karkat in an attempt to get him to quit antagonizing the other hunter. _It's okay, babe, I'm okay, you know I'm okay—_

"Oh, shit," D mutters as he actually processes what Karkat's telling him, tossing the cig down and grinding his heel on it. You can almost feel the dismay pouring out of him as he fishes the pack out of his pocket and tosses it down to you. "Fuck, Dave, I didn't even think about that—he's the one who gave me the fucking habit in the first place, of course you'd have issues with it—" 

"God, you need to chill too, you didn't do anything wrong..." You shake your head, fumbling with the half-full pack of cigarettes for a moment. _I really don't want these..._

_I got 'em._ Karkat nods, taking the pack and stuffing it in his pocket. "You're destined to never have anybody be chill around you, and you know it. Not me, not him, not anybody. It's your job to call us out on it now, right?" 

"Oh, I can _definitely_ do that." You grin back at him, pulling away so you can get to your feet—and taking the hand D offers, when he sees what you're doing. Karkat himself just rolls up with that insanely enviable grace he seems to show every so often, stepping close enough to wrap an arm around your waist. You

...huh. You kind of really like the implications of that gesture. This is probably called overthinking. Or maybe reading too much into things. 

_Jesus Christ on a motorcycle, you do know that you're right when you assume I'm being possessive on purpose, right?_ Karkat points out. Then, directed at D, "Are you going back in there?"

D makes a face, but nods. "Yeah, dude, probably have to; even if I blow off the rest of this, go 'hey I showed my face, cool, I'm done,' I still need to go tell Rose at least that I'm out, maybe say hi to Dirk and his crew—" 

"Rose is here?" You have to cut him off and get confirmation on that, and when he nods again you can't stop a stupid grin from spreading across your whole damn face. Holy shit—you get to see your sister. She's probably no more than a hundred feet away from you. Holy _shit._ "Hell yes." 

"You," Karkat states, very firmly, "are _not_ going back in. D's telling Dirk where you went, and we're going home." 

_Home_. Shit. Home, to Dirk and Jake and John's house, except now it's kind of your house, as least as far as you live there. 

"Give me ten minutes and I'll drive you," D offers while you're still getting over the whole shock value of having an actual fucking semipermanent residence again. 

"We're fine with waiting." Karkat shrugs and leans back against the wall, glancing at you again. _We are okay with waiting, right?_

"Yes, Karkat, I can handle hanging around out here. I'm not fucking dying, asshole; do you _see_ brains leaking out my ears? Huh? Do you? Does it look like I'm—holy _shit_!" 

Even as your hands come up to clutch at your head in instinctive response to the shock of the fucking huge surge of magic you just felt, you see several things happen at once. Karkat goes stiff and _changes,_ eyes burning brighter and horns flickering into existence again; D drops into a combat stance, his attention obvious flickering between you and everything else, looking for a threat as two knives seem to just appear from nowhere in his hands; and a really fucking big, pure white dog skids around the corner of the building and almost crashes into you, swerving just in time and giving you barely a glance before it comes to a stop and starts barking at D. 

"What the fuck—" Karkat starts, but D just waves a hand at him, slipping one knife back up into his sleeve and securing it in the forearm holster before bending down to hold his hand in front of the dog's mouth. 

As soon as he does, it drops a very-wet but amazingly unchewed piece of paper in it. 

_That's weird as fuck,_ you think, forcing yourself to unwind your hands from your hair. "D, what—" 

"Goddamnit, not again," he groans before you can finish your question, shoving the paper down in his pocket and leaning down to look the dog in its bright green eyes. "Do me a favor and stay with these two, Jade? Demons ain't exactly your shit anyway, not in these circumstances." 

"Wait, _Jade_?" Okay, what the actual fuck. You look down at the dog as D heads for the door, and she looks back up at you. 

Damn. The eyes are the right color. And you don't know much about dogs, but you're pretty sure that they're not supposed to look this much like they're smiling. 

Jade barks again and jumps up on her hind feet, her front paws propped up on your shoulders so she can lick at your face. There is absolutely no way you can avoid this affection. Even though it's getting you hella slimy, you're not sure you want to. She's so fucking _happy_ , holy shit? 

Karkat is trying to get your attention. He's backed down from the full combat readiness he was at a second ago, but he's still agitated as fuck, so you reluctantly push Jade off you and turn to him. 

"Stay here," the demon says, before you can even ask him what's wrong. 

"No fucking chance, if you're going in there." And he's planning on it; he's already moving in the same direction D went, taking long quick strides that have you almost running to keep up with him, and Jade trotting beside you both. "Why exactly are you about to walk into a building full of hunters, again? Like, I'm with you every step of the way, but maybe—" 

"Dave, I love you, but _stop talking._ " He puts a soft growl in the last two words, and slips through the door. 

You follow, and get really fucking overwhelmed as soon as you're in the room, to the point where you have to close your eyes and let your mind adjust. Shit, you thought it was bad when everybody was feeling approximately the same set of emotions? This is ridiculous—you can catch anger, confusion, a couple spikes of absolute delight, fear, rage—

_Okay, okay, I can feel shit; how the hell do I_ stop _feeling it?_

That's the question, and Karkat is apparently too distracted to answer it. Okay. That's okay. You can handle this. As long as you don't panic, you can totally handle this. 

You're fine. 

You try thinking of everyone else's emotions the same way you'd think of your own, in any situation where Bro was watching you: they're there, and there's nothing you can do about that, but if you hold yourself in and don't think about them, don't let your attention get caught up, you can make them not exist for a minute at least. And it kinda works. Makes the dizzying press of emotion recede a little, enough for you to take a deep breath and open your eyes. 

And then you have to take another minute to process what the hell you're seeing. Everyone's drawn back from the center of the room, other than Rose (Rose! Holy shit she got really fucking pretty and also really fucking scary) and a pale girl you don't know, at least until she hisses at the other two individuals in the middle of the room and you see her sharp fangs. That's gotta be the vampire, Rose's girlfriend, Kanaya. 

The two in the middle _really_ give you pause, though. They're demons. Like, really demons, at least the one in the shimmering warding circle is; the other one you're not totally sure about. The latter, a short and mostly-humanish lady (your mind insists she's a Lady, even if she looks like she picked her clothes out of a dumpster full of rejected neon-grunge fashion and gave herself a haircut with a not-too-sharp knife) seems mostly focused on either the summoning circle or the pissed-off demon inside. 

D is over by Rose, asking her questions too quietly for you to hear and receiving mostly head-shake yes's and no's. After a second of hesitation, you head across the room to join them, with Jade right by your side. 

"Stop," Rose hisses without taking her eyes off the demon, as you step up next to D. "You're going to make me drop the barrier—" 

"Why the fucking _christ_ would you summon a demon? Why here?" D doesn't even sound worried. Just really fucking exasperated, like this is something that's happened before. Your sister is absolutely terrifying. "This is a fucking _funeral_ , Rose—" 

"This is a memorial, not a funeral, and I summoned a Balancekeeper, the demon just—sort of came along, I don't know!" She shakes her head, short hair flying everywhere, and spares you a quick glance. "Hello, Dave." 

"Hey, Rose." That's literally the only thing you can come up with. To buy time, you glance back at the demons in the middle of the room, and instantly regret it because the one inside the circle seems to be shapeshifting into a _really big_ spider. Jesus. "Are you gonna, uh...maybe send it back?" 

"I didn't summon her in the first place!" This time Rose's voice briefly rises above the hissing whisper she's been keeping it at, to a level that can _almost_ carry a tone of panic, before she gets herself under control again. "I can't exactly banish what I didn't call— _fuck,_ now there's two—" 

Even though you don't want to see the damn spider again, you turn around anyway. Rose is right; there's definitely two demons there now, plus the neon grunge whatever-she-is—but one is Karkat, who's approached the warding circle and is standing there with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Thankfully, the other demon's gone back to mostly-human form, not that you can see her that clearly through the shimmering barrier—just an impression of a lot of denim and long messy dark hair. Better than the spider. 

As you watch, Karkat meets your eyes for just a second, sending you a burst of reassurance that immediately makes you suspicious as hell as to what he's about to do that makes him think you need that. 

And you're right to be suspicious—he takes a step back from the barrier, then lets out a low growl that you can still hear across the room and _changes,_ going from human to full demon in half a heartbeat and spreading his inky-red wings wide. 

Rose yelps, Kanaya hisses again, and you're guessing that weapons come out, but you're not gonna scan the room to check. No, you're more interested in getting to Karkat as fast as possible, get behind him and guard his back from the attack you _know_ will come because even if you can't keep him safe you can damn well make sure you go down fighting for him—

In the couple seconds it takes you to reach Karkat and fall into a defensive stance behind him, he's humanish again and the barrier holding the demon in is gone. Rose apparently lost her concentration when Karkat shifted. So now you have to fucking decide, what's the bigger threat: hunters or spider demon?

Karkat seems to have the latter handled, although that might be because she hasn't actually done anything beyond huffing irritably and flipping her hair back. The other one, Miss Fashion Disaster, makes a satisfied sound and steps up next to her. 

" _Karkat,_ " the spider demon says, drawing his name out in a way that trips both your Instinctive Jealousy and Fearful Irritation switches at once. "What's a tough guy like you doing in a place like this?" 

"I was fucking invited." Okay, why does he sound this calm. Annoyed yes, but calm. "Unlike you, Vriska." 

" _I_ was invited!" Fashion Disaster points out cheerfully. Now that you actually look at her up close, you realize that there's something fucked up about her eyes; they're red, almost the same color as Karkat's but devoid of pupil or iris, with scars marking the skin around them. Makes sense; she definitely dresses like she's blind. "Well, summoned, but who gives a fuck? Nothing says I can't bring a plus-one." 

"Oh my fucking god." Karkat sighs and rubs his forehead. "You can't bring a fucking _plus-one_ to a _funeral._ "

Rose says, quietly but firmly, "Memorial." 

The blind neon fashion disaster laughs at that. Really loudly. Vriska the weird spider demon just snickers. 

You're really confused right now and kind of wish that this whole clusterfuck was a thing that wasn't happening. 

"Can all y'all please leave?" D says. He sounds like this was the last thing he wanted to deal with today, and you sympathize with that sentiment. "You ladies gotta know everyone here is armed and ready to handle threats, but we'd all rather keep the bloodshed to a minimum. No need to get set for another memorial when we're not done with the one we got now, right?" 

Vriska grins at him, a smile full of too many sharp teeth. "I mean, I bet we could make a deal for us to leave..." 

"Oh fuck no—" Karkat grabs her arm as she takes a step towards D, hauling her backwards and growling back as she snarls at him. "No fucking deals! This isn't a crossroad—" 

"It's a metaphorical one!" 

"I don't give a flying fuck! I'm not handling the aftermath of your stupid shit today—" 

Fashion Disaster laughs again, a gleeful cackle that has everybody looking at her again. (Well, everyone besides the two demons, who're more focused on each other.) When you look at her, she seems to be interested in you. 

Shit. 

"So you're the one on trial here, huh?" Yeah, fuck, there's no one else she could be talking to. Fuck. _Fuck._ "Kinda weird, that your blood kin is the one to summon me when she pretty obviously thinks you're innocent." 

"Leave him be, Balancekeeper," Rose warns, stepping up next to you. "You haven't heard the issue to be judged—" 

"Do I need to, when I can taste how much guilt he's carrying and how many people want to jump up and accuse him?" Goddamnit, why the fuck does she have to grin like that? 

_...and there's people here who want to accuse me of something?_ No, not of an undefined "something." You know what you did. _They know too, huh? They all know I had Bro killed, fuck—_

Yeah. Here comes the panic again. You can feel Karkat trying to curl around your thoughts and get you to listen to him even as he argues with the spider demon, but since you've got your mind mostly closed to keep out everything else, it's not working all that well. 

"Hey," the Balancekeeper says. When you don't immediately focus on her, she reaches up and grabs your chin, blunt nails digging in slightly as she pulls you down to look in her eyes. They're red, and they're blank, and holy shit they're so fucking bright it's like looking in the sun. "Let's get this over with." 

"Get the fuck _off_ me!" 

She does let you twist free of her grip pretty easily, but when you stagger away from her you realize that you're not where you were before. There's no one here, for one thing, and instead of the room you were in, this place is just...featureless. White walls, white floor, white ceiling some unmeasurable distance away from you. What the fuck? 

"Karkat?" _Karkat!_ You shout the demon's name and call for him in your mind, and get no response either way. _No. Fuck. Please no._

"Calm down, cool dude," the Balancekeeper says. When you turn back to her she's seated on a white platform that's too featureless to be called a chair—which wasn't there a second ago—watching you with a thoughtful look. "You only stay in the courtroom until the judge—that's me—reaches a decision." 

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure you didn't go through due process, bitch, so—" 

"Shush." She shakes her head and crosses her arms, nodding to the second platform just behind you that _also_ wasn't there a second ago. "Sit down, shades off, if you call me a bitch without providing due reason I'll find you in contempt of court." 

"The due reason of you being a bitch is that you dragged me here without asking me." You do what she says, though, carefully folding your shades and turning them over and over in your hands as you glare at her. "Or fucking telling me what you're accusing me of." Not that you don't know. 

And she knows you know, because she gives you another disturbingly wide grin. "See, we have two courses of action here—one, _you_ tell _me_ what you've been accused of, or two, I scry your past and see for myself." 

"Like you could see anything." 

"Right, make fun of the blind girl, very mature. If you weren't about ready to have a meltdown I'd find you in contempt of court—" 

"Would that get me out of this shit?" 

"No. But since you're obviously having issues today, I'll let it slide." She shrugs, sitting up a little straighter. "State your name for the record." 

" _What_ record?" 

"My record, wiseguy, and also because I'd like something to call you other than 'cool dude' or 'Mr. Black Licorice Guilt.'" 

"Mister what now?" 

"You taste like you're just waiting for somebody to jump on you and call you out on something; I bet even humans can see it." She shrugs, resettling herself on the white chair, and frowns thoughtfully. "You're also stubborn and that tastes disgusting. Stop it." 

"Make me." _Why the actual fuck am I antagonizing a demon, exactly?_ "You know what? You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine." 

That earns you another cackle, and she nods without even hesitating. "Cool _and_ smart! You can have this point, Mr. Licorice—presiding over today's trial is Terezi Pyrope, summoned to arbitrate a dispute. Hopefully this one, because that's what I'm doing." Terezi pauses, raising her eyebrows in your general direction. "And the accused is..." 

Shit. You guess you agreed to this information, if nothing else. "Dave Strider." 

"Do you know what you stand accused of?" When you don't answer, Terezi huffs irritably. "C'mon, now, we both know you do. Do I _really_ need to slap a geas on you to get you to talk?" 

"Go ahead and try." You resist the urge to reach up and touch the scarred tattoo at the back of your neck. "I'm a fucking hunter. We ward against that." 

"Point one: I'm a Balancekeeper, and this is a courtroom—wards against truthtelling spells aren't going to work here. Point two: your warding mark's broken to the point of uselessness." Terezi's mouth twists in distaste, the tip of her tongue poking out for just a second. "That fact is entered into the evidence as Exhibit A." 

"You can't have evidence when you haven't fucking accused me of anything!" 

"It's evidence in your favor, idiot, and it's not _my_ fault you won't state what you're accused of." She shakes her head, and even though her eyes are just blank scarlet you're pretty sure she's rolling them at you. "So let's try this again. Do you know what you're on trial for, Mister Dave Strider? And if you don't answer, I _will_ make you answer." 

Goddamnit. You don't want her working magic on you, especially now that you're certain that the way Bro scarred your neck rendered the protection rune there useless. Did he know that? Did he fucking care? 

"Dave?" 

"Yeah." 

"Hm. I guess I set myself up for that, huh? State what you're here to defend yourself for." 

Damn. That tactic didn't buy you much time to think about what you're going to say. At least she seems amused instead of annoyed, although if you don't do what she wants that's probably going to change. 

_So say it. Quit being a fucking coward and say it._

"I had a hunter killed. My Bro." Shit. You shouldn't be admitting it. This could get _you_ killed, you and Karkat both, and while you can handle the former you don't want to even think about the latter—

"True!" Terezi snaps her fingers to get your attention, her wide grin replaced by a surprisingly serious expression. "The accused does not deny that he had a hand in the deceased's death—of course he doesn't! Mr. Strider knows better than to lie to a Balancekeeper!" 

"You do know we're the only ones here, right? Like, I realize you're blind—" 

"The defendant is ordered to shut up. The issue at hand is not whether or not the deceased _is_ deceased, or how said death happened, or who did it. The only thing I'm interested in is _justice_!" 

There's no way Terezi can see you flinch at that, but she still stops talking and frowns at you. "Does the defendant need a minute to stop freaking out?" 

"...no." You just want her to get this over with. Whatever "this" is. 

"Oh, good. The purpose of this trial is to determine whether the motives behind the death of the deceased were righteous or flawed. In other words, we can boil this all down to a nice yes-or-no question: did he deserve to die?" 

You answer without thinking, give her the response your gut goes to every time you ask yourself that question. "No." 

Terezi shakes her head and waves a hand, and the wall behind her shimmers and changes, images appearing on it. The first is a picture of the scarred and broken protection rune on the back of your neck. The second is just the word "REMORSE," written in blue-green capital letters. "Exhibits A and B: defendant has been obviously harmed by the deceased, and defendant nonetheless regrets the deceased's death. He's also scared out of his mind; it tastes awful." 

"Shut _up._ " She's right, but that doesn't mean you want to hear it. 

"Nope. The judge will ignore that remark because of aforementioned reasons. Hmmm...does the defendant have any more evidence to put on display?" 

"I—" 

You stop almost immediately, because her blind eyes are fixed on you again, and you can _feel_ something sifting carefully through your mind. Before you can tell her to fucking quit it, Karkat's voice speaks out of the air between you and the Balancekeeper. 

" _He'll kill you. Or he'll keep you like some kind of fucking beast, just so he can keep getting off on having you hurt and scared._ "

And it's your voice that answers, so raw and hurt that you cringe down in your seat and close your eyes. " _So I fucking hope for the former and expect the latter._ "

"Defendant," Terezi says quietly, "believed he had cause to fear for his life." 

"Get the fuck out of my head—" 

She's still digging, but she stops and tilts her head thoughtfully, snapping her fingers again. The wall behind her shimmers again, this time displaying a long list of names. You recognize very few of them—the ones that you do know seem to jump out at you, the teal that they're printed in darkening to almost black. Most of them are names of hunters that you only met one or two times, or of people who were known to have information on demons. 

"The deceased had killed before, both with reason—" she snaps her fingers again, and maybe a third of the two hundred or so names go bright, accusing red— "and without." The rest darken to black, with just a few wavering uneasily between the two colors. 

Wait. That's what that list is? People Bro killed? "That...can't be right." 

"Don't doubt a Balancekeeper, Dave." 

"But—" It couldn't be that many. Yeah, there were a lot of jobs, a lot of demons, but that many? And there are hunters' names there—he wouldn't kill hunters, why— 

You know why. 

He told you he'd kill you if you ever crossed him. You've heard him threaten people who disagreed with his tactics—hell, that was a normal thing, to the point that you fielded texts from other hunters as often as you could, anything to avoid a confrontation that'd end with Bro angry and you left to try and dodge the fallout. 

With someone like him, there isn't much space between threatening and acting. 

"Fuck." You hear the word come out of your mouth, and hope that Terezi isn't going to threaten you with contempt of court again. You're not even sure what that is or what kind of punishment it'd carry. 

"The judge would like to go on record as agreeing with that sentiment." Another wave of her hand, and the list of names shrinks to leave room for her first three pieces of evidence. "I'm not really sure if we're using the old laws or the ones humans have set down and use now, but if we accept any judiciary code which allows the death penalty, the deceased would have earned it twenty times over." She gives you a stern frown, and adds, "Which doesn't mean _you_ have the right to pass judgement, just so you know." 

"That's not what—" 

"The judge is very aware that the main motive for the deceased's death was self-defense on the part of the defendant, even if the defendant was technically not in danger of being killed at that exact point in time. Exhibits A and E—" 

"Uh, there isn't an Exhibit E." 

"Damn." Terezi snaps her fingers again, and more images appear below the ones already present: pictures of scars on pale skin. You can place every one of them to where they're traded on your skin. "Sorry, Dave—you're Exhibit E; I forgot to add you into evidence." 

" ...can we maybe not look at those right now. Please."

She just nods, and the images darken into obscurity. "Exhibits A and E show undeniable proof of long-term abuse perpetrated by the deceased—"

"He didn't—" 

"The judge is going to remember that the defendant does to some extent believe that what he's trying to say is true, which means he's not really lying to a Balancekeeper, because the consequences of that would be really bad." 

"Sorry." 

"Don't worry, I already struck it from the record. Karkat would kill me if I jacked you up just because I could." Terezi shrugs, standing up; you instinctively do the same. "In conclusion: judge rules that the death of Derrick Strider was justified, self-defense on the part of Dave Strider, who was not able to access any other means of helping himself due to machinations of aforementioned Derrick Strider. Dave Strider is _not_ to be held accountable for Derrick's death, or punished for it, now or at any time in the future. C'mere." 

"Wait, what—" But she's already grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling you down enough that she's able to... _lick_ you. 

Eugh. 

Terezi's more slobbery than Jade was, and Jade's currently a dog. You pull out of her grip as soon as you can, taking a step back and wiping your sleeve across your face to clear the spot out of your eyes. 

"Dave!" Karkat yelps.

Okay, well, you're back in the room where you started. Nobody seems to really notice your and the Balancekeeper's disappearance and reappearance, other than Karkat, who's currently inside a new binding circle with Vriska. Going by the fact that he's got her right arm twisted behind her and his other arm hooked around her neck, you're going to guess that they're not getting along too well. 

"Here you go," Terezi says cheerfully, stepping over to Rose and shoving a folder into her hands. (The barrier holding Karkat and Vriska dissolves as Rose gets distracted, but the two demons are still occupied with trying to beat the shit out of each other.) "The ruling and full transcripts of the trial, with known laws that were referenced cited." 

"But—" Rose starts. Terezi cuts her off with another cackle. 

"You guys are really obsessed with asses here, huh? Vris, c'mon, playtime's over!" The Balancekeeper brushes past you, grabbing the spider demon's shirt as she tries to lunge at Karkat again. "Seriously, give it a rest." 

"Fuck you!" But Vriska doesn't fight for more than a second, calming almost immediately and slinging an arm around Terezi's shoulders. "Ugh. _Fine._ Later, losers." 

Rose has her mouth open to protest, but the two of them are already gone. 

For a second, nobody in the room moves except D, who's shifting his weight from foot to foot, scanning the room for any new threats. Amazingly, you're the one who actually acts first. 

"Holy shit, 'kat." You step over to the demon, trying to ignore everybody else looking at you, and reach up to push his red hair back from the new scratches on his forehead. "She clawed you up, huh? You okay?" 

He winces and nods at the same time, catching your hands and wrapping an arm around your shoulder to steer you towards the door. "Isn't that what I should be asking you? Terezi has problems with personal space when she's fulfilling her duty..." 

"Well, that _is_ what Balancekeepers are meant to do," Hal points out, falling into step next to you. "Although the question still stands." 

"I'm okay." For now at least. Later, you're going to have to get that folder from Rose, go over the list of names—

"There's absolutely no way you're doing that," Karkat growls. "Hal, are you going back to the house?" 

The shikigami nods. "We all are, once Dirk and Jake get John to quit trying to fight some idiot. Rose and the others might actually get there before we do, at this rate—you should ride with them." 

"Uh..." _Damn, now I have to make decisions._

_No, Dave, you really don't, don't worry._ Karkat shakes his head and reaches over to grab D's arm, pulling him along towards the exit. "You're the driver, right?" 

"Yep." D shakes the demon off after a second, offering you a quick smile. "Sorry. That might've been more than ten minutes." 

"I mean, I was the one who held shit up, so..." You shrug. "We're going home now. It's all good." 

And despite the fact that you have no real reason to, you feel just a little less shitty about having your Bro killed. Maybe it's because the Balancekeeper promised that you won't be punished for it, now or ever. 

Stupid, but you feel safer. 

It's good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got weirdly long and rambly also TZ is hard to write


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for threats, character talking about sex, character talking about gore, and me being evil

So. 

You go home. And it's home, D and Hal and Dirk are your brothers more than Bro ever was or could be and Karkat is...well. He's here, he's yours, you're his, period, end of story. 

(Not really. What you have with Karkat is both too complicated to explain and so simple you can sum it up with the simple four-letter-word of _love._ ) 

But you have time to work that out with him, and work everything else out too. Slowly. You really can't process the ways your life changed in any way _but_ slowly. 

You get used to it, though, all of it. The fact that you can read other people's emotions. That pretty much everybody is immediately willing to just kind of...accept that? Bro would have killed you if you'd shown signs of this kind of talent when he was alive, but your family (another word you have to get used to in relation to yourself) just...works around it, like they work around the shitty mental fallout Bro left you with. And if (when) other hunters work out that your ability to pick up on moods and shit is as much a function of magic as it is of your training, they mostly just shrug and try to work out if it's something that can be useful. 

(It can. You're a hella good lie detector, and under the right circumstances you can be an okay tracker. There's uses to this empath thing, beyond fucking you up in crowds and letting you be close to Karkat.) 

That takes getting used to. 

D gets you into therapy, which is...weird. Probably helps that he knows people who're okay with there being a demon sitting in on sessions and don't freak out when you end up bringing weapons in. Which kind of happens a lot. It helps, though, and the way that the others fucking _care_ enough to watch for those times when shit's bad for you anyway, that they learn to recognise that there's days when you're fine and days when you can't handle anyone but Karkat touching you, the fact that D doesn't carry cigarettes anymore even though Roxy told you that was his main go-to when he's really badly stressed, how Hal tries to find correlate between your bad days and Jake tries to predict them with his readings? 

All that helps even more. 

You get used to the idea that yeah, you can have normal. Or more normal. That shit can be okay, that it _is_ okay now, that there's absolutely no reason for you to have to take the jobs that mean killing demons and supernatural beings who don't deserve it. 

That you don't have to kill at all. 

You get used to Karkat being next to you when you wake up, whether it's in the morning or at fuck o'clock at night from a bad dream. He's there when you need him, and yeah, you need him a lot, but the nightmares slowly become further apart. 

Things get better. 

_You_ get better, even if you're still not at what you would consider to be normal by everybody else's standards. You're always gonna be fucked up, but you can still get to a point where you can handle things. 

So it's almost two years, and you don't think about the guy who raised you quite as much as you did at first. 

...and then your eighteenth birthday starts getting close.

And then the dreams start.

* * *

_Hey, lil' man._

" _Shut up. You're dead._ " 

_Yeah, how about that? Betrayed by my own fuckin' blood. Always thought I raised you better'n that; guess there's only so much I can do with shitty material. Goddamn._

" _You're dead._ " 

_Fuck, you're still an idiot, huh? Did I say I wasn't dead?_

" _Fuck off._ " 

_Nah. I don't think you understand, Davey—_

" _Don't you fucking call me that!_ " 

Pain. Like a sharp blow, backhanded across the face in a way that leaves your skin stinging but might not leave marks. He can do that when nobody's looking, carry on like nothing happened. 

Don't _backtalk me, bitch. Fuckin' demon teach you that? Huh? I just_ bet _he did, made you think I don't own your ass._

" _Leave him out of this._ " 

_He's the one who started it, lil' man. Set the fuckin' wheels in motion, wasted me and took you off to my idiot brother and his crew. You think I haven't been watching? I know what you've been doing._

" _You are dead. My Bro is dead. My Bro is—_ " 

_Yeah, yeah, you're a stupid whelp who'll bury his head in the sand and get his ass kicked. We get it. You fuckin'_ deserve _what happens to you, Davey._

" _Fuck you._ " 

_Awww. What's that? You miss me fucking you? I know you and the demon fuck; being dead makes me the best fuckin' voyeur ever. You ever slip up on whose name you moan, Davey, or is that just in your head?_

_Hey._

_Lil' man._

Talk _to me, bitch!_

Pain, again. More like a punch this time; feels like blood on your face. 

" _Leave me_ alone!" 

_You don't want that. I'm your Bro, your big bro; everyone knows you wish the demon hadn't killed me. You want me back._

" _No—_ " 

_Think about it, Davey. If I could come back, fuck that demon of yours, tear him right up, play with him awhile and see how long it takes to make him_ beg _to die._

_He heals fast, right?_

_Could keep him alive for days. Weeks. String you up across from him, keep you awake so you can watch him bleed, watch him beg you to make it stop. Would you get on your knees to me for him, Davey? I bet you would. Wouldn't even take that much—just chain that bastard up, strip him down and start cutting. Start_ biting.

_Bet I can get most of his skin off in one piece, Davey. Bet I can keep him alive through it—_

" _No! Don't you touch him, you won't fucking touch him, I'll kill you, don't you dare—_ " 

"—touch him, don't touch him, don't touch him, don't—" 

You jerk awake and away, and your perception of time goes screwy as you realize that you can taste blood, your face is wet, there's nothing underneath you, and you're almost screaming the same three words over and over again. That last thing only stops for a second when you hit the floor, forehead slamming against it because you're too fucked up to even try to catch yourself; then you're almost sobbing the words out and scrambling to find a wall, put your back against it, get away—

"Dave—holy shit, Dave—" Karkat's voice is sleep-rough, but he's moving quicker than most people at full awareness. The light flicks on, and a second later the demon's kneeling in front of you, hands held out in an offer of support even if he doesn't touch you yet and eyes fixed on yours. "I'm right here, love, okay? Right here. No one's going to touch me, no one's going to take me away." 

_That's not what this is,_ you want to tell him, but you can't bear to open your mind enough to get the thought through. Your control's improved, since the empath talents manifested; you stay mostly closed when you sleep now. It's safer. But it means you can't let him see that this isn't just an anxiety dream of him being taken from you, this is...

No. It's not. 

It _is._

It can't be—

"Dave, can I touch you? Can you let me touch you?" You

You still haven't managed to stop your chant of _don't touch him,_ but there's barely real words in it at this point, and somehow you manage to nod at Karkat's question. As soon as you do, he's got you wrapped up in his arms, settling so you're pressed against his chest, close enough to feel his heartbeat as he runs his fingers through your hair. 

You _really_ taste blood. Your face hurts. 

_Because he hit me,_ you think, and shudder at the thought. 

Karkat's arms tighten around you, just a little. A year ago that would've sent you into a panic; now it's reassuring, a promise of protection and safety. "Who hit you?" 

" 's a _dream,_ " you rasp out. God, how loudly were you screaming? Too loud for the lowkey soundproofing on the walls? Is everyone else going to know? "N-nobody...he's dead, fuckin' _dead,_ gotta be dead, I s—I saw it, I saw—" 

"Shhh, Dave, shush. You're going to make your nosebleed worse." Karkat's trying to soothe you down, but he's agitated too, either because your emotions are bleeding through the bond even with your mind closed, or because—

_Because he knows Bro's—_

"Shh. I'm freaked out because I'm afraid you're going to fucking hyperventilate, babe, and maybe because you're freaked out but mostly the other one—breathe with me, okay? Count those fuckers out, I know you know how to do this because you had to teach me..." 

It's hard to fit the measured breaths around your sobbing, but you guess that's the point: you're _supposed_ to only do one at a time, and your body responds to the five-seven-eight inhale-hold-release pattern just like it's supposed to. Although you have to count by Karkat's heartbeat, because yours is racing so fast you're dizzy. 

Or maybe that's the nosebleed. 

But he calms you down, and he cleans you up, gets you changed into a shirt that's not bloody and sat on the bed (well, on his lap, but he's on the bed so that counts) before he asks anything else. Even then, the question's carefully gentle. 

"What happened?" 

About six answers fight to get out of your mouth. You lean into Karkat and say the shortest one. 

"Dream." 

"The ones that make you scream are called _nightmares,_ Dave." 

"No. Dream." You don't know why you insist on this, but it wasn't a nightmare. Maybe it wasn't a dream— _no._ You won't go down that road. 

"...okay. Dream. Can you tell me?" 

"I—" Fear curls around your gut, so icy it burns, as soon as you even try to think about it. It tightens up your chest, too; steals your air and your voice, makes you need to switch to other lines of communication. _Bro. Bro, 'kat, he—_

Karkat growls, quiet and absolutely furious, ready to tear something (or some _one_ ) apart. "I killed him. He's dead. I promise you." 

_He's dead,_ you agree, but your hands are clenched in Karkat's shirt, straining the fabric in your desperation to hold him safely against you. _He's dead. But. God, Karkat..._

"Shh." He strokes your hair, pulls you closer and almost cradles you against him, murmuring wordlessly and winding himself around your mind, tangling the two of you up so much you don't know how he'll ever get away. You don't want him to get away. You want him here, safe, with you. You _need_ him...

_You have me. You'll always have me._

"I...know." 

_But Bro,_ your mind whispers, too soft for him to hear. You smash that whisper down and curl closer to the demon. 

"Can you sleep?" he asks quietly. 

You haven't had two nightmares in a row in what seems like a long fucking time, so you nod and cooperate with Karkat as he shifts you to lie down, let him go just long enough to let him get down next to you before wrapping yourself around him. 

_He's dead,_ you remind yourself. _He's dead, and it's just a fucking dream._

* * *

Bro tells you how he's going to gut Karkat alive and feed him his own liver, and how you're going to help. This time you wake up because Karkat's pinned your arms on the bed to keep you from clawing at your head to get the softly furious southern drawl out. 

Your throat hurts from screaming. 

Instead of trying to get you to sleep the second time, he takes you into the kitchen, makes you coffee, and tells Hal to start setting up a conference with the rest of your family, present and absent. You just hunch over in the blanket you've acquired at some point, and try not to think about what's going to happen. 

You've never been good at not thinking about shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I was going to be evil
> 
> I told you


	21. Chapter 21

Getting Dirk and John up and moderately awake takes half an hour, significantly longer than it takes to get ahold of the rest of your family. Hal's the one who deals with those two; Karkat stays at the table with you, in the chair next to you, seemingly focused on the laptop in front of him. He's more-or-less constantly checking on you, though; every few second he dips into your mind, asking wordless questions or offering reassurances that you can't quite bring yourself to totally believe. 

Eventually Karkat looks up, frowning a little at how you flinch at having been caught staring at him. "If that bastard comes back, I'm killing him slow this time," the demon tells you quietly. 

"He's not coming back. Can't." _There wasn't a body. There wasn't a fuckin' body, 'kat, not when you were done—_

"Exactly. There's no fucking way he could come back." You can see the unspoken _but if he does_ in Karkat's face for a moment; then he nods, shifting the laptop to let you see that he's got a chat open. "D says he's coming as soon as he can." 

Part of you wants to protest that this isn't worth that kind of trouble, that _you're_ not worth it.

Under that, there's the knowledge that Bro hammered into you over and over again when he was alive, that he summed up really fucking well—no, your _dream_ summed up—with the words _I own your ass._ Even if you know that's not true, you believe it anyway, deep down, and that part of you believes that if Bro wants to take you back, D won't stop him.

"Dave?" Karkat asks, and you know he knows what you're thinking. If you give him any opening to, he'll refute it, and do it well. 

"Yeah, man. He's coming, that's...good." 

"Want me to fuck around and see if I can't get Hal's videoconferencing thing up?" 

You kind of do want that, but... "Nah. We wait 'til we got everybody in here; no fuckin' way can I go over those damn dreams more'n once."

* * *

Hal and Dirk drag the chairs into a rough half-circle, which turns into a full circle when you factor in the three laptops, each with an active video connection to Rose, D, and Roxy. The chairs started out evenly spaced, but you almost immediately pulled Karkat's closer to yours. 

Everyone else knows better than to say anything about that. Not that they would. There's nothing wrong with it, they know how it is with you and him, there's no reason to feel fucking _guilty,_ this is okay, this is right, this—

"Dave?" D asks. He sighs when you jump and focus on him at the sound of your name, and rakes both hands through his already fucked-up hair. Wherever he is, it's at least a couple hours ahead of you; you can see morning sunlight through the window behind him. "Shit. It's bad, isn't it?" 

"No." You refuse to believe that anything's going to happen. It's a fucking bad dream, some kind of magic maybe, somebody with a grudge decided to—

_If I could come back,_ Bro drawls out in your head, and even though this time it's only the fucking memory of a dream, you still shudder. It's a small enough movement that D might not be able to catch it through the webcam, but Hal sure as hell sees it. You can see how the shikigami's posture stiffens, just the smallest bit. 

"Very bad," Hal corrects you. 

"...yeah." He's right. You know he is. 

"What sort of 'very bad' are we discussing here, exactly?" Rose asks. It's obviously still night for her; both she and Kanaya are in the field of the camera on their end, somewhat less scruffy than D is but just as obviously only recently out of bed. You don't think you've ever seen Kanaya at night before; she looks more vampire than you're used to, very still and focused on what you're guessing is the telltale light for the webcam, eyes very wide and dark against her luminous skin. "I mean...I do have some idea, there isn't much that makes Dave react like this, but I'd still like the more comprehensive explanation if possible. Especially if that explanation proves my assumption wrong." 

"That 'if possible' needs more emphasis, Rosie," Roxy adds. She's the only one who seems fully awake and dressed, which is maybe a little weird since you're pretty sure she's in the same timezone as you are. Then again, from the small room she's in, she could be on some kind of job. "Like, we can roll without the details if going over 'em's gonna fuck shit up worse." 

_It probably is,_ you think. Then, because Karkat's going to react to that thought and flatly refuse to let you try to talk about it in another second, you start talking. "I dreamed about Bro. Except—it wasn't a fucking dream. More like he was there, like I spoke to him—it was closer to using the empath shit to talk to Karkat than anything else—except that I've ever done that asleep—and I can't talk to _him_ , Bro, never could, even if he was alive I can't speak without the bond and I'd—fuck, I'd never—I couldn't—" 

"Time out," Karkat says sharply, reaching over to grab your hand and get you to stop twisting at the hem of your shirt, lacing his fingers through yours. _He's dead. Breathe._

"He's dead," you repeat, and take a breath. "I _know._ But he still fucking talked to me. Twice." 

"You're sure it wasn't you dreaming about him talking to you?" D asks. "Not that I don't believe you, just..." 

"No." Dirk and Hal both say it at the same time. They glance at each other, and it's Dirk who continues. "Dave, turn your head a little, scoot up to the cam. D, look at his face." 

You do what Dirk says, putting the marks from where Bro hit you in the dream on display. After a second you hear D's sharp intake of breath, more a dismayed hiss than a gasp. 

"Dreams don't leave bruises," Hal points out, in that calm tone that means he's really fucking upset. "Unless he did it himself—" 

"Trust me. He didn't." That's Karkat.

" _Fuck_ ," D whispers, soft and dismayed and almost horrified. You wonder what exactly he's thinking right now—is he afraid that Bro's going to somehow make good on his threat and come back? Is he as confused as you are as to _how_ he'd do that? 

_Fuck. Is he wondering if he can get his brother back, like I never had Karkat kill him?_ I

"Stop," Karkat murmurs, shaking his head when you look at him. _Ask him._

_Can't._

_Fine. I will._ And before you can tell him to not fucking do that, the demon leans towards D's video pickup, scowling at it. "What are you planning on doing if that asshole shows up again, somehow?" 

D shrugs slightly, and his posture changes just a little, shoulders relaxing and face going blank for a second as he switches gears. You're _still_ not used to how he does that, the shift in body language when he goes from just talking to planning; the change is noticeable enough that people who've only met him in one state sometimes don't recognize him the first time they see him in the other. 

"If he comes back, we're dealing with bad shit," D says slowly. "It'd mean he's corporeal without his actual body—means he's either strong enough to manifest his own, in which case we're dead, everyone he wants dead is fuckin' _wasted_ , period, exclamation point—or someone _made_ him a body; which means he's got a fuckin' patron. Like, one who's got a damn good necromancer, to raise a guy after two years _and_ in a body not his own." He stops and nods at John, who's got one hand up like he's in school. "Don't do that. You got a point, Egbert?" 

John does not have the social grace to look even a little ashamed of himself as he lowers his hand. "We could also go with the assumption that Dave's bro is a vengeful enough spirit to fuck with dreams and _possibly_ inhabit any usable body. Possession isn't totally unknown with ghosts—" 

"The timeframe's weird," Hal points out. "What's the reasoning behind waiting until now? Unless he has the ability to store energy beyond known limits for this type of specter, he should have been at full strength after no more than two weeks to a month of death. Considering that his death was violent, I'd put the beginning of the plateau closer to the former. There'd be very little reason for him to wait this long to harass Dave." 

"So we assume there's a reason he waited," Dirk agrees. "Which would be...?" 

Damn. Now everybody's looking at you. "How the hell would I know?" Okay, you probably didn't need to sound that defensive. _Goddamnit._

"Well, you are the one who's best versed on your own life, Dave," Rose points out. Then, as Karkat shifts his chair a few inches in your direction so he's close enough to wrap his arm around your shoulders, she amends that statement. "Well, other than possibly Karkat. Has something changed noticeably for you? Mentally, in everyday life, anything?" 

You and Karkat shake your heads at the exact same time. 

There's an unfortunately awkward silence as everybody considers. It's Roxy that breaks it. 

"He's turning eighteen in what, a week? Lil' less? Dunno if that counts as something changing, but it's def a date of power." 

Well, shit. You're suddenly and unreasonably angry, enough that Karkat jerks in his chair and looks over at you in surprise. "So he wants to fuck up my birthday? Are you fucking kidding me?" 

"I mean, it's more likely he's using the ethereal and karmic energy generated by events and dates that're perceived significant to gain enough power to fuck you over, but." John shrugs and tips his chair back. "Yep, it kind of boils down to him fucking up your birthday." 

"What the fuck is _ethereal_ energy?" D asks. "You mean ectoplasmic? 'cause I know a lil' more about that shit—" 

"Why would social rituals generate ghosty stuff? That doesn't even make sense—" 

"Well, ethereal means angels, so _that_ doesn't make sense—" 

"It doesn't just mean angelic energy, come on—" 

Hal beeps. Loudly. It sounds like a car unlocking and gets John and D to stop talking and focus on him. "Off topic." 

"Current topic is 'Dave Is Being Tormented By Bro And We Need To Remedy That,'" Rose points out helpfully. "Kanaya, are you planning on attacking the webcam?" 

The vampire blinks, for the first time since the video feed came up, and glances at your sister. "...um. Probably not?" 

"Oh, good. Perhaps it'd be safer if you go lie back down, though." When Kanaya nods in agreement and rises to leave, Rose asks, "So. Perhaps we can address the current topic, then?" 

"The only thing I can do to address that shit is not fucking sleep, Rose," you point out, trying to ignore the memories that are already rising. Yeah, you can stay awake for a pretty long time—three or four days and still be combat-ready, five or six if you're willing to put yourself through paranoia and hallucinations, dose yourself up with caffeine and hope you don't have a fucking heart attack—

" _Dave_ ," Karkat says sharply. 

Shit. You're slipping back into how you thought when he was alive, aren't you? That more-or-less constant state of expectation, of fear without ever showing or admitting you're afraid, of knowing that shit's going to happen and you have no power over it...you thought you were out of that. You thought you were done with it. You've _worked_ to be done with it, worked hard as hell to move past his shit.

But all it takes is a couple dreams, and you're right back where you started. 

"Sorry," you mutter, folding your arms across your chest and hoping the movement doesn't look as defensive as it is. 

"You're not the one who needs to be saying sorry here," D points out, shaking his head. "That'd be my fuckin' scumbag brother...but yeah, no, you staying awake isn't a solution and we all know it—" 

"I'm not going back to sleep after tonight's shit, D—"

"And I get that, man, but hear me out, okay? For all we know this was a goddamn isolated incident, that he's got a limited window for being able to fuck with you." 

You glance at John for confirmation on that, and he nods. "It could totally be a one-off. A lot of ghosts can't muster up enough power to manifest in any way; of the ones that can, some can only manage it once or twice." 

"Thanks for the backup, ghosty boy. And if the bastard's just got until your birthday to fuck with you, then Dirk gives you the sleeping meds I _know_ he still has from that time with the dreamwalker, and you sleep deep enough that Bro can't touch you." 

_Fuck. Yeah, that'd help._ Karkat purrs as he catches some amount of your surge of stupid, pitiful relief that there's a way to avoid speaking to Bro in your dreams. The purr turns into an unhappy growl as your mind immediately moves in another direction. "And if it's not just 'til my birthday?" 

"C'mon, Dave, don't buy trouble—" 

"It's not exactly buying trouble, Rox," Hal says before she can tell you not to worry about what you're already stressing over. "If he wants to state the possibilities, we will. A, this is already over—" 

"It's not." 

"Dave, let me finish my list. A, this is a one-time thing, and it's over. B, there's a limited window of time this can happen, and we can wait it out. C, this is...well, more permanent, in which case we figure out a way to get rid of the fucking ghost. Exorcisms suck but they're still a viable option." 

"Or option D." You don't want to say it. It needs to be said, needs to be put on the table. "He does come back." 

"See, that one's the easiest to handle," D says. " 'Cause that one just means I do what I shoulda done five years ago: I fucking kill him." 

There's nothing in his voice but cold sincerity. You want to fucking cry. "D, if he—you don't—" Yeah, shit, can't keep your voice steady. Not at all. Karkat's in your head, trying to surround you with reassurance that you don't have to talk, Dirk and Hal and John are looking at you and you're guessing Roxy and Rose probably are too, and you can't take it right now. 

You shake your head and cover your face with both hands. "...shit." 

Karkat squeezes your shoulder. _Are you going to be okay?_

_I have no fuckin' clue._ You open your mind to the demon for a second, let him see the mess of emotions and thoughts you've got going on right now in the hope he can untangle it a little better than you can, or at least understand it. You sure as hell don't understand. 

But Karkat gets some of it. "Of course D's going to fucking choose you, Dave." 

"Over Bro? You bet your fucking life I would." D sighs, and even though you can't look right now you can hear the stressed frustration in the sound. "Look. I think we covered everything we can right now; I'm gonna go start seeing about getting my ass back to y'all, okay?" 

"Good plan," Dirk agrees. "Rox, Rose?" 

"I'm stuck here for three more days at least," Roxy says ruefully. "Kind of committed to this job; I didn't think I'd need to get back to Dirk's before Dave's birthday." 

"Kanaya and I will be on the plane down there the day after tomorrow," Rose says. "I don't believe even I can expedite beyond that." 

"So in a couple days we'll all be there," D finishes. "It'll be okay, Dave." 

"Yeah." You believe him. Maybe that part of your mind that still belongs to Bro doesn't believe, but everything else knows that D and the others will do everything they can to make sure shit goes okay. "Talk to you guys later." 

And Karkat pulls you to your feet and towards the couch as Hal starts unhooking the laptops and camera. You don't have to ask to know that the demon's going to find a movie and curl up with you, make sure you don't sleep again tonight. Keep you safe. 

_It'll be okay,_ you tell yourself, and you keep repeating it until you believe it a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much fucking dialogue


	22. Chapter 22

Damn, but the next day _sucks._

Being low on sleep means you drink coffee until Hal, who's been monitoring your caffeine intake, quietly but firmly takes the cup out of your hands and unplugs the pot. Which is fine, by the time the shikigami cuts you off you're probably not all that far from whatever the dangerous dosage is for coffee; him making you stop isn't what makes it shitty. 

The fact that you're so wired on caffeine that your head's buzzing with it, drowning out Karkat's presence more than a little bit, _that's_ shitty. But on another level, you're thankful that he's being blocked out, because that means he can't tell how fucked you are, that he's free to concentrate on whatever solution he might find for this situation.

_There's a solution. He'll find something. I'll find something, Dirk or Roxy or D will find something..._

You keep telling yourself that, but you can't focus on researching revenants and poltergeists, specters and unquiet spirits and ghosts. You spend pretty much the whole day reading through shit about everything that Bro could be now, and learn...well, nothing. 

It could also be said that you spend the day avoiding Karkat, though, and surprisingly, that works well up until the day's almost over. Then you get a hint of intention from him, that he'll be in the kitchen in another few minutes, and instead of getting up and relocating you just stare at the computer screen in front of you and shove your shades up to rub at your eyes.

You feel like you're breaking. Does he know?

_I can't do this._

"Can't do what?" The demon's tone's too gentle, as his hands come down on your shoulders. That's as far as he goes, this time, even if on any other occasion he'd wrap his arms around you, lean his chin on your shoulder as he scanned the laptop's screen. Right now, though, he knows that you can't handle that much contact. "Dave—" 

"I fucking _can't._ " You cut him off halfway through the word, willing your voice not to break. It doesn't, not on that sentence, but the words come out shaky and too quiet. "I can't do this, man, you don't—it's not just me, he doesn't just want to hurt me, if he can he'll—you know what he can do, you've been in my dreams, before he fucking _pretended_ that he was normal, 'cept to me, if he—he's not going to—"

"Dave." 

"I'm gonna—" There. Your voice fails there, finally, you choke on a rising sob and smother it and finish the sentence in your head. _Get you killed. I'm gonna get all of you killed._

" _Dave,_ " Karkat says, one more time, and even though he doesn't move he's suddenly closer, winding himself around your mind and finding where he fits against you. _No one's going to get killed._

"That's—" _—worse._

The demon growls deep in his throat at the images he reads from your mind, hands tightening on your shoulders. "He won't lay a hand on you. On any of us." _I swear that on my fucking life._

"You can't fucking promise that!" Most of the sentence comes out in a pained wail, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from saying anything else, bowing your head and closing your eyes. _You don't—_ "—know what he's going to be. If he's lich—" _—he'll kill you. Worse. Strip your soul from your body, cut you off from your true form and trap you in whatever fucked-up torments he can think of—_

"Dave, _stop._ " 

And Karkat does something he almost never does: he _pushes_ against your mind, pushes hard, sending streamers of his magic and sparks of pain floating down through your consciousness like drops of blood in water. It hurts, for a second, but the bits of himself that he leaves in you seek out the places filled with the staticky void of anxiety, binding themselves to it and, slowly, filling you with calm that you know won't last.

Even knowing that, you welcome it. It lets you relax against him, even if it doesn't take away the fear. 

Karkat slips his arms around your shoulders, leaning in to bury his face in your hair and taking a deep breath. "Better?" he asks after a moment.

"...different." _This isn't going to stop him, 'kat._

_I know it won't._ "If he breaks your mind, he fucking wins." _I won't let him win. It's my job to make sure you get through this._

"Scared." That's as much as you can admit, and the parts of your mind that aren't dampened by Karkat's magic are screaming that showing weakness even with a single word will get you killed, that you can't— 

The demon growls and wraps himself around your mind again, surrounding you with the promise of protection, the promise of safety, until your breathing slows from panic to calm again. "I know you are. It'd going to be okay, though, I promise...you need to eat, and you need to sleep, though. Everything else, we'll work out later."

_Karkat, I can't sleep, if I sleep he'll—_

He shushes you before you can get any further, gently working your fingers loose from where you've instinctively latched onto his arm and wrapping his hands around yours. "I'll be with you. If that fucker doesn't leave you alone, I'll wake you up and you can take one of Dirk's pills, okay?" 

_...okay._ "Okay." 

"Okay." And he nods, and lets go of you so he can get you something to eat.

* * *

Karkat shakes you awake and you taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your lip in an effort not to scream. 

"Dave—" 

"Shower." The word comes out harsh and rough, like you're forcing it out. You are. "Shower, I need—need to get him off me, out of me, he—let _go_ of me, 'kat, I—" 

His hands are gone as soon as you say that, and even though you almost collapse as soon as you push yourself off the bed he doesn't touch you again. Doesn't stop him from hovering, and that's okay, you want him near you, _need_ him near you, if he wasn't here you'd freeze and fall and let yourself die before Bro ever got a chance to do in person what he's just done in spirit—

Karkat tries to work his way into your head and hisses in dismay as you shove him out again. God, you hope he knows this isn't a rejection of him, you'd never reject him—but you're fucking awful right now. Disgusting. _Marked._

_Guess you're still good for this, Davey,_ Bro croons in your head, laughter and pleasure filling the memory of his soft voice. It's not the voice that makes you shudder, though; no, the memory of his hands guiding your hips with enough force to bruise does that. _Pretty lil' fucker; guess there's a reason that demon stays around, huh?_

"Dave, I can't tell what you're thinking, but I know it's bad—" 

"Shower. Can't fucking talk now, 'kat, please—" 

"Gotcha. C'mon." 

You manage not to sob when he pulls your arm over his shoulders, half-carrying you to the bathroom. That level of control lasts until he has to help you get your shirt off because your hands are shaking too badly to handle the buttons; by the time he picks you up and steps into the shower with you, you're just clinging to him, unable to stand or speak or fucking _think_. 

Not thinking is better. Means you can retreat from memories and sensations and _knowing_ shit. 

You'd stay gone longer, except Karkat dips into your mind and coaxes you out long enough to swallow the pill he gives you. Once you're out of that frozen blank state, you can't exactly just slip back into it. 

Instead, you curl up on top of him, bury your face in his shirt, and let the meds you just took drag you back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Bro's still here with you, but you're deeper than him. He can't touch you. 

It's making him furious, but for now you're safe.

* * *

The constant feeling of panic isn't present the next day. You feel weird, yeah; whatever's in the pill Karkat gave you leaves you a little looped, a little dazed for most of the day, but it's exponentially better than how you spent yesterday on the edge of a panic attack. 

The next night, you take one before you try to sleep at all, and the only thing you feel from Bro's ghost is helpless rage. The night after that, you can't sense him at all. 

After that, you don't take the pills, and neither do you dream of him. 

Apparently, it was option B after all.

* * *

Your first birthday surprise is Karkat kissing you awake, purring proudly when you laugh at him and kiss him back. He shakes his head when you try to pull him down next to you, though, drawing away and giving you a sharp-toothed smile. 

"D and Rose are going to skin me alive if I keep you here all day," the demon murmurs, leaning in for one more kiss before he slides out of bed. "As much as we'd both like to stay like this, I think it'd be safer to get the fuck up." 

The phrase _skin me alive_ almost makes you shiver, but you push that down and get up, just so you can wrap your arms around Karkat and distract him from getting dressed for the day for another few minutes. Even though you don't strictly _need_ the comfort of it, you ask for and receive permission to flip his mind and yours for a moment. 

If you could, you'd stay like this for hours. Just stand here and breathe with him, lose yourself in his love for you and yours for him. But D and the others are waiting, so when Karkat gives you a gentle push towards your own body, you go without any kind of an argument. 

He dresses you and you dress him, and you steal another kiss before you leave the room.

* * *

Hal's in his favored spot on top of the fridge in the kitchen, almost hidden by the fuckton of balloons that're...well, everywhere. You have to stop and stare at this shit; Karkat starts laughing as soon as your bolt of bewildered amazement hits him. 

Rose spares you a quick glance and a smile. "Happy birthday, Dave." 

"Thanks...who picked out the, uh." Maybe reaching over and snagging one of the balloons—a pink one—isn't the best way to finish your question, but that's what you do anyway, raising your eyebrows at her. "The this?" 

"That'd be D," Hal answers helpfully. "He's out with Jake, picking up the cake." 

"The what?" Wait, they're getting you a cake?

"And _you're_ supposed to be with Roxy and Dirk," Rose tells the shikigami, frowning up at him. 

"Nope." 

"Want me to get him down?" Karkat offers. 

"Hmm...best not. That might make a mess; we'll let Dirk argue with him." Rose shrugs and starts gathering the balloons into small bunches, tying their strings to the backs of the kitchen chairs. "Or I suppose I could get his override codes from Roxy—" 

"Don't you dare!" 

"Well, if you won't cooperate." She huffs and crosses her arms, almost immediately uncrossing them again to grab for a balloon. "Damn it!" 

"Guys, are we seriously doing cake here?"

* * *

The answer is, unsurprisingly, yes. You're seriously doing cake here. A fucking huge cake, in fact, the kind you've seen on the baking shows that John likes to watch for the sole purpose of complaining about. 

Your moment of pure _holy shit_ when you see the damn thing has Karkat laughing so hard he ends up clutching at your shoulder to stay upright. D's grinning too, and as soon as he has that fucking cake safely situated on the table he steps over to face you, holding out his arms. 

Stepping in to let yourself be embraced is easy. "Holy fuck, D." 

"Hey, I missed out on a bunch of your birthdays; 'm sure as hell gonna make this one memorable." He pulls back and wraps an arm around your shoulders, nodding at the cake, at Dirk and Roxy trying to argue Hal down from the fridge, at John adjusting something on the side of the cake and Rose and Jake trying to arrange balloons better. "How'm I doing so far?" 

"Dude, it's not even noon and you fuckin' win. You got all my other birthdays beat by a mile and you know it." 

"Trust me, he's got more shit planned for later." Dirk glances over at you, grinning as he adjusts his ponytail. "Just wait until— _mmph_!" 

Hal's down off the fridge and wrapped around Dirk before he can finish his sentence, muzzling the other with one hand firmly over his mouth. "Nope, no hints," the shikigami says cheerfully, grimacing as Dirk struggles and licks at his hand. "Dude, ew. What are you, six?" 

Predictably, all he gets in response are muffled irritated grunts. And a snort from D. 

"Damn, Dave and I are the only adults here, huh? Hal, let go of your brother; Dirk, quit tryin' to fuck up my party. Dave's party. Whatever." As Hal pushes Dirk back onto Roxy and dodges the punch that the former throws at him, D nods decisively. "There we go. Yo, Jake, time check?" 

" Ten-twenty." 

" _Hell_ yes. Thirteen minutes." 

You have to ask. "Until?" 

"Until I can legally light the candles on this fucker and force everyone to sing to you." D grins at you, crossing his arms. "Hope you're ready."

* * *

D has, apparently, figured out exactly when he needs to get everybody started singing to have it finish at 10:33, right when you actually turn eighteen. Amazingly, everything goes exactly how he's planned it, other than the fact that you're grinning wide enough that it's hard to blow all the candles out. 

But you get them all anyway. You don't make a wish, because right up until the moment the flames puff out you don't think you need to. In this moment, there's nothing else you want. 

The instant that there's nothing but rising smoke, when the clock on the wall ticks over to 10:33, things go to shit. 

Rose and Dirk yelp almost in unison, and Hal makes a staticky noise that you've only heard when he's experiencing technical difficulties. When you look over, you see blood on Rose's face and Dirk clutching at his side with a baffled look, staring at the blood on his fingers. 

You don't even know what's happening and your mind is already full of a desperate chant of _no, no, please no, no._

Karkat snarls in alarm, even before you feel the sting of teeth sinking into the skin over the old tattoo at the back of your neck. That's not the only flare of pain—there's half a dozen others, old scars ripping themselves open all over your body—but Bro's old lovebite is the one that horrifies you the worst. 

"Dave!" the demon yells, and you just shake your head and stumble back from the table, slamming against him and then jerking away. "What the fuck's—"

_No!_ you scream silently at him, and he recoils like you just struck him with a weapon. Maybe you did—your mind's a weapon, you know that, one you never thought you'd hurt him with. 

But you need _out._

Karkat freezes, Rose and Dirk and D are distracted by their own sudden injuries, Roxy's reciting keycodes to try and get Hal to respond, Jake and John are at Dirk's side. They're not looking at you when you bolt for the back door. 

There's no coherent thoughts in your mind, but you know it'll all be safer if you get as far away from the people you care about as possible. 

You don't know how you can be this certain, but you _know_ that your Bro is back.


	23. Chapter 23

You're grabbing frantically at the handle to your truck's door when somebody grabs you from behind, hands clamping down on your shoulders and spinning you around. 

_No!_ Your mind is a weapon, your mind is a fucking sword, Bro can take you but you're sure as fuck going to hurt him as much as you can before he does, make him kill you instead of—

"Shit, Dave, stop!" 

D. It's D, you realize that as he hisses instead of trying to say anything else to you, his face screwing up in a pained grimace. He doesn't let go of you, though. Doesn't bear down harder to try to inflict enough pain to get you to stop either. 

He's bleeding too, from a cut almost hidden in his hairline at his temple. You remember the scar there; when you were a kid you were unreasonably fascinated with it, always wanted to touch it, give him little-kid kisses there because even if Bro never did that shit you knew that you kissed things to make them better. You never knew how he got it, but now you have an idea.

"Hey—" D starts. 

"No." You try to jerk back, out of his grip, and nearly just go into a spiraling vaporlock of panic as your shoulders hit the truck. You _can't_ retreat, he's got you cornered, you can't— _stop. Stop. Stop._ "Fuckin' let me go, D, let me go, this is my fault, I can't—" 

"It's not your fault, kiddo, and you're not going anywhere but back inside." He's got his voice back down to comforting, reassuring, calm despite the fact he's _bleeding_ —and not just from the little cut on his head; you can see a darker red stain working its way through his red shirt. "C'mon, we need to figure this shit out, it's—" 

You lose the rest of his sentence, because he pulls you forward a little and tries to wrap his arm around your shoulders, brushes against that fucking _tattoo,_ and your mind goes pure white with panic. The next thing you know you're on your knees on the lawn, doubled over and hugging yourself, and your left hand hurts like hell. 

Your ears are ringing. You can't fucking _breathe._

"Dave." 

Hal. That's Hal. 

He's kneeling next to you, and you force yourself to straighten up enough to look at him. You can't read a single fucking thing off his face, which most likely means he's scared out of his mind, and there's a bloodstain on his shirt, about at the bottom of his ribcage. About where Dirk was injured, you think. Fuck.

"I need to _go,_ " you tell him, wishing you could force your voice to be louder. "I need—"

"—to come back inside and let us handle this logically," he finishes before you can. 

"No!"

"Yes. What are you going to accomplish this way, Dave?" For a second, _something_ flashes across the shikigami's face, there and gone too quick for you to read anything but pain in it. "Are you planning to sacrifice yourself in hopes that he'll abandon his designs on the rest of us?" 

"Fuck yes I am!" _Let him fucking kill me. Let him take me and have me for whatever the hell he wants, as long as he leaves all of you out of it,_ you think, and immediately get a flash of denial from Karkat. 

It hurts, but you slam the door between his mind and yours shut. Cut him off as completely as you can. You can't let him follow you. 

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Dave," Hal says in that eerie-calm voice that he uses instead of showing any kind of emotion when he's upset. It takes you a second to remember what he's responding to. 

"You can't tell me I can't—" 

"Bullshit I can't. You're my fucking _brother_ , you know that." Hal crosses his arms and frowns at you, the expression only lasting a moment before his face goes blank again. "I'll die before I let that bastard touch you again." 

_He'd die for me._ "Don't you _dare—_ " 

"It's not going to come to that if you don't make us protect you from a distance! You're a thousand times safer here, with us, where we can fight with you instead of just trying to protect you." The shikigami's calm mask slips again, and you get a look at his frustration for a second before he groans and closes his eyes. "Please." 

"Running ain't exactly gonna help," D adds from behind you. Even as you twist to face him he's moving, stepping over to sit on the ground next to Hal. 

_Shit._ There's more blood on his face now, his lip bruised and split.

You fucking punched him. 

That realization almost makes you curl up onto yourself again. "D, fuck—I didn't—I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry—" 

D just looks baffled for a moment, then shakes his head and impatiently wipes at the trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "My fucking fault." 

"My line." You don't even know if he's going to understand what you mean by that. _I'm supposed to say that. I'm the one that gets hit and deserves it, not you. I'm the only one who oughta be bleeding._

"It was a fuckin' lie when he made you say it, man; this is different." 

"Hit you. I hit you." 

"Yeah, 'cause I grabbed where I got no fuckin' right grabbing." He sighs and shifts, one hand going to the dark spot on his shoulder for a moment. "Dave—" 

"You're bleeding." 

"We all are." Hal shakes his head and jerks his shirt up, displaying a long, shallow cut running along his left side, almost parallel to his ribs. "Dirk has one on the other side, along an old scar from a sparring match with Bro. Rose's nose started bleeding; he slapped her for calling him out on something when she was eleven—" 

"I remember." You grabbed his hand before he could do it a second time; he ended up apologizing, blaming it on being a little drunk, and then broke two of your fingers once she was gone. 

"—your neck's bleeding and from what I can see of your shirt, you're a mess everywhere else as well, worse off than any of us." Hal folds his arms, uncrosses and recrosses them, eyes going blank for a moment as he considers. "It's only injuries that he inflicted that reopened—other than mine; I never met him in person, but this effect could be a carryover from Dirk being my base programming—and only on those of us related to him by blood. Otherwise Jake and Roxy would have the wounds too. Shit...I _hate_ reflective necromancy." 

"I have no fucking clue what that is," D says. 

"It's stupid. Stupid is what it is. Dave, you need to come inside before the neighbors call the cops on us." 

_No._ "I'm leaving." 

"Like fuck you are—" 

"Like fuck I'm _not,_ D!" 

"Take a fucking second to think, Dave." D grimaces and yanks at the buttons to his shirt, getting it open and gesturing at the newly reopened cuts there. There's not all that many—one thin line along his collarbone, the larger cut on his shoulder that's bleeding through his shirt, a gash just above his navel that was probably awful when it was new and is still messy now—but they're noticeable as hell. "It's not just you he's after." 

"He wants me more—" 

"Yeah, maybe, but what's running gonna do? I'll tell you what it'll do: split us up. Give him less of a problem. Only thing it does is hurt all of us, man, come on." 

You've closed yourself off so you can't _feel_ D's pleading, but you can sure as hell see it, hear it in his voice. He's the only one out of all the Striders who doesn't hide shit, keep emotions behind a mask, so you know that his need to get you back inside and safe isn't just a ploy. He's sincere about wanting you to stay. 

But. 

"I'm gonna get all of you killed." 

D and Hal glance at each other. It's the shikigami who answers. 

"No," he says, and he says it firmly and irrefutably, "you're not." 

_Damn._

When Hal gets to his feet and offers you a hand up, you take it.

* * *

Roxy, Rose, Dirk, and John aren't in the kitchen. Jake and Karkat are, though; the former's standing over a map spread out on the counter rather than the table, the pendulum in his hand making unnaturally wide arcs over it. 

The demon's standing just behind him, one hand on Jake's shoulder, concentrating just as fiercely on the pendulum as Jake is. When you cautiously drop some of your mental barriers, you can feel the divining magic rolling off both of them, generated by Jake and directed by Karkat. 

_Fuck, are they looking for Bro?_

"I wouldn't know how to fucking start." Karkat's voice is low, not quite a growl, and he doesn't take his eyes off the pendulum. "I met him _once,_ that's not enough to scry for him. This is for someone else, a guy I've tangled with before..." 

He pushes an image at you, one that's got the quality of a memory almost forgotten. It's blurred and warped to the point where you can just pick up the impression of someone probably taller than D, a silhouette that becomes a skeleton when the lights shifts, a smile that isn't a smile. 

And purple. The whole memory is eerily purple, a color that's a quality of light. 

"Dave, wait—" Karkat starts as you try to drag more detail out of the image. That's as far as he gets, though, because the whole damn memory goes bright purple, and you both wince. 

There's the small tap of the pendulum hitting the table. 

"Got him," Jake announces, letting the pendulum's chain slip through his fingers. The little crystal weight stays right where it is, though, balanced point-down on the map as if he's still holding it steady. 

"Great." The demon shakes his head as if to clear it, leaning over to get a better look at the map, then nodding and turning away. "I'll—" 

"Karkat—" You grab his arm before he can take one fucking step toward the door, bracing yourself for an angry snarl. "Don't you fuckin' leave me." 

He doesn't growl at you. In fact, as soon as you touch him he stops, immediately turning to you and shaking you off his arm just so he can take your hands in his, meeting your eyes. "I'll be right back—" 

"Fuck that!" Shit. You're too fucking close to tears, to just breaking down right here in front of D and Hal and Jake, begging him not to go. "I'm coming with you." 

"I'm going after another demon." 

"So? We've hunted together—" 

"This fucker's the kind of demon you leave alone because you _can't_ kill him, Dave." 

"And _you_ can?" He's leaving you. Even if he says he's coming back, even if he believes it (and he does, you can feel that he believes he'll be back more-or-less unharmed), Karkat's about to walk out the door and you don't fucking believe he'll come back. _Please. I can't, man, I can't handle this shit if you're gone—_

"Dave, shh." _I won't be gone,_ he thinks at you, and wraps his arms around you to pull you in close, kissing first your forehead and then your lips, giving you reassurance and love and a _promise_ that for today at least everything will be okay. "Listen to me." 

"...I am." You're also holding onto him, probably too tight. No fucking way are you letting go. 

"I can take him, alright? I swear—" 

"You don't know that—" 

" _Listen,_ Dave. I can beat this asshole in a fight. And if I'm wrong about that, if for some reason I can't? He's not one to give anybody a nice, clean death." Karkat pulls away the slightest bit, waiting for you to look him in the eyes. _Give me three hours. Hal knows the spells to summon a demon back; even if I fuck this up, I'll still be alive in three hours._

Fuck. 

If shit goes wrong, he'll be tortured. You know that without having to ask. You don't fucking want that to happen, you don't even want to _think_ about that happening. 

But...

" 'kat."

"Dave." 

"Promise me." _You'll come back._

He doesn't even hesitate. "I swear." And you can't read any doubt in his eyes. 

Karkat kisses you again, very carefully. When he goes to pull away from you, you let him.

As soon as the door shuts, Hal sighs and shakes his head. "Dave?" 

" ...yeah." Fuck, you're scared. 

"You need to get cleaned up." 

"Yeah." 

When you still don't move, the shikigami sighs again and puts one hand on your shoulder, steering you out of the kitchen. "Right. Come on." 

_Fuck, I don't_ have _to be functional until Karkat comes back,_ you think, and almost just start crying from the relief of the thought as you let Hal lead you into the bathroom.

* * *

It's about an hour and a half before you can feel Karkat at all. 

In that time, Hal gets your wounds cleaned off and bandaged up. Even though most of them were pretty fucking bad when they were fresh the first time, they're just shallow cuts this time, just deep enough to sting and bleed. Same for everyone else's; the only worrisome one was Rose's nosebleed, and that was only a problem because like you, she has a history of not being able to get that kind of thing to stop. 

D coaxes you into eating some of that damn cake, and even if you're mostly just trying not to visibly panic, you're pretty glad that you do that. Somehow sugary shit does make things a little better. 

The fact that you end up on the couch, leaning on Dirk on one side and with Rose pressed up against you on the other, and with one of D's stupidest movies playing, also helps. There's a thread of guilt in your mind, that you feel almost okay when Karkat's out handling the dangerous shit, but you can try to think around that. 

And you do a pretty good job of it, for about an hour and a half. Then you _feel_ Karkat in your head, a jumble of victory and irritation and anger, and Dirk looks over at you because you just went almost limp with relief next to him for a second. Before he can do more than open his mouth to ask if you're okay, you're off the couch and on your feet, heading for the door to the backyard. 

D, John, Dirk, and Roxy are right behind you; the others stay in the house. You're sure there's some tactical reasoning behind that, but you have no idea what it is right now, and you're not planning on asking. 

Karkat's standing on the edge of the concrete slab in the backyard, scowling at the permanent binding circle John and Hal set up. He's closed the circle, drawn in the two symbols deliberately left blank when they laid the design down in colored concrete, but the demon inside isn't even testing his boundaries, just standing there calmly with his hands by his sides. 

For a second you think that the demon in the circle is manifesting his true form. Then you step up next to Karkat, right at the edge of the circle, and realize that no, he's in his humanish form, but every visible inch of skin's been tattooed, white bones on a black background as if he's under an x-ray. 

He tilts his head, brushing back bone-white dreadlocks as he regards you with eyes that'd actually look human if not for their luminescent purple irises, and you bite back a wince as you realize that his lips have been sewn shut. 

**_Greetings, Second of the Two._**

This demon's mental voice is far louder than Karkat's ever was—this is a true telepath, not the weirdly abled empath you are. Powerful. Scary.

"Second of two what?" John asks in confusion. 

The demon just shrugs, eyes never leaving you. _**The First seeks you. Or he will.**_

"We don't want your fucking games, Kurloz," Karkat growls. 

_**My title is Speaker to the Dead.**_

"I don't give a fuck what you want to be called. I know you're mixed up in this shit; I saw your fucking mind shit in Dave's eyes." For a second, Karkat's form flickers to his demon form, fully manifested. It's a threat. "Where the fuck is the bastard you raised?" 

_**I've raised nothing, Vantas. My talents have been...utilized.**_

"Same fucking difference. _Talk._ " 

Kurloz makes a soft noise, muffled by the stitches. Laughter.

"You know what I fucking mean!" 

_**I do.**_ He nods, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they're pure glowing violet, fixed on you, holding you in place so there's no way you can look away. _**And this may surprise you, but I'm amenable to an exchange of information.**_

And he holds out his hand. 

And before Karkat can stop you, you reach through the circle, _break_ the circle, and take it.


	24. Chapter 24

The Speaker's hand clamps down on yours and pulls you into the circle with one hard yank, and you know that you've fucked up. Karkat yowls in alarm behind you, but he can't cross the circle to drag you back—it's made to block demons from passing, and it'll keep him out just as effectively as it keeps Kurloz in. 

D or any of the other humans could pass, theoretically. Right now, though, Kurloz is...doing something. Controlling them, maybe—even though the protection runes they wear should block at least some of that shit, and he's in a circle which should _definitely_ prevent him from extending his influence outside of it, you can _feel_ something go out and twine itself around your family even as his eyes lock with yours. 

_**Calm the fuck down, Second. Take what I'm giving you.**_

Which is what you want. You want the knowledge, this is what you asked for—except even his calm delivery of that thought brings a memory to mind, a growled _take it, brat!_ that expected as little resistance as this demon does. 

It's that memory that makes you struggle against the iron grip on your wrists, makes you choke out, "No fuckin' way—" 

_**Too late for that.**_

Kurloz dives into your mind, slipping into the cracks you didn't know your defenses had and filling everything with his cool purple radiance. After only a second you can't even _think_ of resisting—he's so fucking _strong,_ how can any one being hold this much power? 

There's nothing but his eyes. Nothing in the world but purple light. There's nothing in your mind but the Speaker for the Dead, coiling and settling and crushing your will down until you're barely even there.

_He's going to kill me,_ you think, and it's not even a surprising thought. _Bro won't even get a chance to have me, because even if my body's still breathing after this, I'm going to be gone._

_**That would be a motherfucking waste. The twin messiahs become nothing if such a simple servant as I were the one to waste one of them.**_ Kurloz's amusement is just as crushing as his presence, but as he sends you those thoughts he withdraws a little. There's still nothing in your world but him, but now his presence isn't so painful. _**One of you will have to die, yes, but not by my hands.**_

_Karkat's gonna break the circle and tear your heart out in another minute,_ you warn him. _Talk fast._

_**Talk isn't what I'm here for. I'm a motherfucking prophet sent to give you the knowledge meant only for the Two Messiahs.**_ More amusement, a weight that's almost painful. Maybe it is painful, but he doesn't let you feel the pain. _**We've got all the time in the world, Second. I could speak to you for a lifetime like this, and release you before Vantas finished drawing a single breath.**_

Shit. _Shit._ The thought of having Kurloz wound around your mind, _inside_ your mind, for any longer than he has to be? That drives spikes of cold panic down into your gut. 

And of course, he smooths the panic away. You're his puppet now; there's no need for you to be alarmed. 

_Stop it!_

_**Hey, there's no way you can get this knowledge if your mind isn't calm. Stop the motherfucking fighting, Second—**_

( _stop fuckin' fighting, Davey,_ Bro drawls in your memories) 

_**Enough of that shit.**_

Annoyance hurts more than amusement. If you had control of any part of your body you'd sob, but Kurloz owns you completely. All you can do is stand still as he darts through your mind, striking down anything that isn't what he wants to see until all that's left of you is a tight knot of consciousness at the core of your soul. 

The Speaker could destroy that, too. You know he could. If he does, you hope D has the mercy to put a sword through your heart.

_**You're not mine to kill. The moment your self perishes, you cease to be the Second of Two, and that is motherfucking unacceptable.**_

And he doesn't touch your core. 

Instead, he starts pouring that damned purple light into you. Everything that he's cleared out, made blank and empty, he fills with _knowledge,_ planning and images and shit that you absolutely cannot even try to sort out right now. Kurloz fills you, and it hurts like nothing else. 

Through this process, you don't move. He holds you steady with an ease that horrifies you.

_He's so fucking strong,_ you think. _How the fuck did Karkat catch him, how did he being him here?_

_**Simple.**_

_**I let him.**_

As you process that simple statement, Kurloz pulls out of your mind. The loss of him hurts almost as badly as his presence did, but he holds control of you, keeping you from showing any pain. Without your volition your mouth shapes syllables, the spell for either banishing or releasing. 

Then you're the only one in the circle, and the Speaker's puppet-strings that have been holding you snap. Suddenly, you can't hold yourself upright. 

Because Karkat is shouting both out loud and in your mind, you make the effort to roll to one side, break the circle with your body again. That's rewarded with the feeling of his hands on you, gentle and roughly urgent at the same time. 

You're okay with that.

Your mind goes away for a while. You can't say that things go dark, though. 

If anything, they go purple.

* * *

"Dave." 

_Dave._

"Dave." 

There's maybe half a minute between each repetition of your name, and it alternates between aural and mental. The former's quiet, rough around the edges like he's fighting tears. The latter's filled with too much emotion for you to process. 

From the fear and concern that you're getting from him, Karkat's been trying to call you back for a while. 

_Dave._

"Dave." 

"Karkat," you try to say back to him, and get out what feels like an unintelligible mumble. 

He must get the meaning of it, though, because he gasps, jerking you up from however you were lying (partially on his lap, you think, but your perception of your own body is fucked up right now so you can't be sure) and hugs you to his chest, one arm holding you close while his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. 

Fuck. Karkat's shaking. 

How the fuck do arms work. 

That puzzle takes you a minute to work out. Then you get your arms up around the demon, leaning into him and closing your eyes to try and work out what the hell the Speaker left in your head. 

A lot. He left a lot. 

Okay, leave that for now. " 'kat."

"I thought he fucking broke you, Dave." Karkat's got his forehead pressed against yours, and the hand on the back of your head is shifting uneasily between having claws and not.

"Naah. Where's the others?" 

"Jake has John, Hal has Dirk, Roxy has Rose. D's probably throwing up again." 

"He fucked with them. Kurloz."

"I should've _hurt_ him." Karkat tenses up as he says that, only relaxing when you give him a careful mental push. "You were a fucking idiot for letting him get in your head, Dave—" 

"Had to get the info, man." 

"We don't know what else he put in there..." He hesitates, then cautiously tries to dip into your mind—and recoils as you gently push him out again. _Dave?_

_'s okay, babe, just..._ "He did plant shit, but its...not gonna hurt me. You, maybe, if you try and go through it—he said it was 'meant only for the Two Messiahs—'" 

Karkat goes completely still, pulling back to stare at you in what seems to be fucking _horror._ "He didn't say that."

"I mean, technically he didn't say anything." 

"This isn't something you can fucking joke about, Dave—" 

"Do you think I don't know that?" You shift to free up one hand so you can rub at your eyes, leaning against the demon. Apparently if you just try to ignore the tangle of knowledge he left you, you're going to have to try and handle the headache while the info seeps into your consciousness anyway. "I don't get why Kurloz picked me and Bro, how he even fucking knew about us—and you _know_ it had to be him, as far as he knows he's the last member of that goddamn cult... what does he do, fucking constantly scry for some poor asshole who fits his damn prophecy?" 

Instead of answering, Karkat growls softly, looking into your eyes before pulling you up closed again. "You don't believe in this shit, do you." 

"No." 

"That's a mistake, Dave. Kurloz _does_ believe, because he's lived through three cycles of the Two Messiahs." 

"He's got a pretty good track record, if they all ended up being the ones who ruled the world 'stead of the ones that ended it." 

"The end of the world is a relative term." Karkat huffs and shakes his head. "According to everything I know about his cult, it's evenly split. The first time around, the one who survived ruled. The third, she destroyed." 

"The second?" You know the answer. Kurloz left it in your head. You ask Karkat anyway, because he needs to not know just how much you know. 

"Twins." He shifts, and you can feel his worry. "One killed the other, yeah, but then he killed himself." 

"Yeah." The purple-tinged knowledge in your mind says that that was the most successful cycle, because it simply let the status quo continue. 

Kurloz doesn't want change, you realize, because with every new messiah to rise, there's the chance he'll be replaced with a new prophet. Maybe he has little power now, as the leader of a cult of one, but as long as he's the Speaker to the Dead, as long as he's needed to call the First Messiah back to the living, he's more-or-less immortal. 

"I can't tell what you're thinking, Dave," Karkat murmurs against your neck. 

"Sorry...'m trying to sort the shit he gave me out." That's true, or true enough that he won't be able to sense a lie. "I know where Bro's gonna be." 

" _Good._ I'm going to fucking tear him apart."

"I know you are, babe," you tell him, even though what you actually know is that he won't. Can't. "Once D gets over the mind-control aftereffects, I gotta go see if he can arrange us a fuckin' plane ride. I wanna sleep on the way there; can't do that in the truck." 

Karkat nods, the red-on-red patterns in his eyes finally shifting away from the darker tones that've been dominating them. "Where to?" 

The answer is fucking _ironic_. Enough so that instead of answering out loud, you just laugh and shake your head and push the image of the building you met him in at him. 

_Right back to the fucking start._


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for character death

_Your name is Karkat Vantas._

You didn't think you'd ever come back to this shithole. Honestly, you never fucking _wanted_ to come back here—this place smells of old blood spilt, trauma ground into the bones of the building to the point where you can taste it with every breath. The memories don't help either—the last time you were here with Dave, the first time you met him, you could have so easily just fucking killed him, been killed by him—

Yeah. That's not what happened. 

You still wish you weren't here. 

But Dave's been fucking _driven_ to get you here, or at least to get here himself. Even if he doesn't say it, you're pretty sure he would've liked you to stay away. 

He wants to protect you. That's not his fucking job. 

So you helped him explain to D where you needed to go and why. (And you didn't mention the fact that Dave was projecting grim unthinking determination at you the entire time, maybe without even knowing that he was doing it.) You were the one who talked Roxy and Rose, Jake and John, into staying at the safehouse, convinced them that somebody ought to stay here just in case Kurloz gave him bad information. (And didn't say that Dave was completely and utterly convinced that the knowledge he had was trustworthy.) 

There was no way Dirk and Hal could be talked out of coming, of course, and neither you nor Dave even made an attempt to keep D at the safehouse. This is Strider business; they're all going to be in on it at the end. 

Dave said he wanted to sleep on the plane, and that's exactly what he did. The moment that the plane cleared the runway, he unclipped his belt and climbed into your lap, leaning against you and going still. You don't think he ever really relaxed, but he definitely slept the whole time. 

You'd have been relieved about that if you hadn't been able to see the sliver of bright purple light under Dave's mostly-closed eyelids. 

You're going to fucking kill Kurloz the next time you see him.

The airfield's actually a couple miles past your destination. You'd planned to wake Dave just before the plane was going to land, but when you glanced out the window and realized that you were over that damn building, he went stiff in your lap, eyes opening. Not focusing, for the first minute—you don't think he _could_ focus. Probably he couldn't even see, not with his eyes that full of light, of Kurloz's power. 

You almost asked him what the fuck was going on. 

Even though he'd shut you out of his mind almost completely, you knew that he wasn't going to tell you. 

"Hey," he murmured, wrapping his arms around your neck and leaning his forehead against yours. Now that he was looking at you, the purple was gone. Thank fuck. 

"Hey, yourself." 

"Shit's gonna go down, man." 

"I know. We still have time to back the fuck out of this, Dave." _Just fucking run. Let someone else kill that bastard—D would do it. Fuck, I could call ten people who'd kill him in any way you could think of—_

Dave was shaking his head, very slowly. "Not how it works."   
"Like fuck it's not!" Shit. You had to take a deep breath in, restrain yourself from digging your claws into his skin. "You yourself said this messiah shit wasn't fucking legit—" 

"And you said that the Speaker lived through it." Something sparked in his eyes and faded again. Something bright and purple. "I can't back out." 

_Fuck._ "I love you," you whispered to him, giving up on holding back the tears that wanted to blur your vision. "Please let me in." 

This time, it was more than a spark. Dave's eyes _flared,_ the red in his irises brightening up purple. For the second until he blinked, they stayed that way, as if you were looking into the other demon's eyes. 

Then he blinked, and he shook his head. "I love you," he said, very quietly and painfully calmly, "and I _can't._ " 

The light telling you to fasten your seatbelt came on a minute or two later. Instead of doing that, you wrapped your arms around him and held him, praying that this wasn't the last time you'd be able to do this.

* * *

Hal lays a circle around the building, just as that bastard drew one when he trapped you in here years ago. His is different, though; it's a long piece of yarn that Rose imbued with power. You still won't be able to cross it, once he closes the circle. 

Dave's leaning against the wall, eyes closed, hands obsessively tapping the places where he's stowed blades. There's a lot of them; he's not taking a chance on being disarmed and not having a backup. You're glad of that. 

"Dave." _You're afraid._

"Going up against the scariest fucker I know, 'kat. 'course I'm afraid." He opens his eyes halfway, watching you. There's no hint of purple in them now. "...c'mere?" 

_Of course._

As soon as you step close enough, he straightens up and wraps his arms around you, leaning in for a kiss. Part of you says you should turn your head, step away, don't let him have it. It's too much like bad luck. 

But you love him. 

You love him so _fucking_ much. 

And you growl and tighten your grip on him, and kiss him back.

* * *

The inside of the building is still deserted, but it's not dark. Every twenty feet or so there's a featureless white orb about the size of a grapefruit, suspended halfway between floor and ceiling. The light the things give off is cold and white and feels like magic, but it's more than enough to see by. 

D reaches curiously for the first one, and Hal (who won the coin flip between him and Dirk, for who'd get to come into the building instead of staying out to guard) grabs his hand even before Dave says, " _Don't_ touch that." 

"You know what it is?" D asks, waiting for Hal to release him. There's already a long knife in his other hand. 

"Kind of." Purple sparks in Dave's eyes, until he shakes his head impatiently. "Doesn't fuckin' matter, just...trust me. Those're for us to follow, not for you to touch. Touching them would be bad." 

Hal frowns, shifting a little. Checking his own weapons. "Has it occurred to you that this is an _excellent_ setup for an ambush?" 

Dave just shrugs. "Only an ambush if we don't expect it." 

"Fair point," the shikigami murmurs, and his hand flickers down and comes up with his katana. 

D's got both his blades out now too, even if Dave's still empty-handed as he heads towards the next white orb. You shift a little closer to your true form, and follow him.

* * *

It's the same fucking room as the first time. You know that as soon as Dave opens the door, even before you scent the old blood that stains the floor. Of _course_ it's the same room—there's nowhere else it could be. 

The motherfucker standing over the bloodstain should look different. Death should mark someone. 

It hasn't marked him. 

Dave stops in the doorway, blocking you from lunging forward and killing his bro. _Dave, move—_

"Hey, Bro," he says, ignoring you completely. "How was hell?" 

That fucker grins. "Boring, but I told the devil to keep a place open for you and your pet demon." 

"Damn." Dave still hasn't drawn his sword, but now his hand dips down to rest on the hilt. "You _still_ think I'm gonna let you kill him." 

"Who says you gotta _let_ me do anything?" 

_Dave, fucking_ move, _let me take him—_

He moves even as you think that at him—right at that motherfucker, with his sword leading the way. 

That is not what you fucking meant! 

You lunge after Dave anyway, intending to take the first opportunity you have to disembowel his Bro—and as soon as you clear the doorway someone tackles you, and D lets out one strangled cry as purple-flavored magic erupts all around you. Kurloz slams you up against a wall, hands closing down around your throat and bearing down for the second before you fall fully into your true form and throw him halfway across the room. 

Or at least _try_ to throw him. What really happens is that you break his grip on you, he skids back maybe four feet and _manifests,_ long black horns flickering into existence and white dreadlocks lengthening, the very nature of their being changing until they're bone-tipped, sharp, deadly weapons. 

The stitches holding his lips shut flex slightly as he smiles at you. 

" _Fucker_!" Hal screams. 

Kurloz spins to deflect the shikigami's attack, spins back to defend against you and try to find an opening, and suddenly you are fighting for your fucking life. 

You don't dare look at Dave. If you don't concentrate on the Speaker to the Dead, you're going to lose this fight. 

Time stops existing. There's nothing but attacking and blocking, dodging or accepting smaller wounds in exchange for scoring a hit on Kurloz. There's blood that isn't two years old screaming for your attention now, yours and the other demon's and Hal's and _Dave's,_ you can feel Dave bleeding from small glancing blows. That fucker's teasing him, tormenting him, making him bleed—

Pain rips through your chest, and you freeze. 

Kurloz's dreadlocks catch Hal's wrist, jerking him hard enough to make him drop his sword and then flinging him into the wall. The impact's loud, and the shikigami doesn't get up. 

You can't even look over to see if he's okay. 

All you can look at is Dave. Dave, who's gone just as still as you have. Dave, who's sending you sick waves of pain even though his mind's still guarded. 

Dave, who you love more than you've ever loved anyone. 

Dave, who's standing there with his sword hanging at his side, staring down at the katana piercing his chest. 

_No. No, no, no—_

You need to heal him. You need to do it _now._

That bastard yanks his sword free of Dave's chest, and Dave just collapses. 

And Kurloz lunges at you again. 

_No._

You can't reach him. 

As you snarl at the Speaker, as you desperately try to get past him, you can _feel_ Dave slipping away from you. And there is nothing you can do.

_No._

You feel the moment he dies. 

" _No_!" You scream out the denial even though you know there's no use in it, throwing your head back to howl your pain at the heavens. In this moment you're defenseless, if Kurloz presses his advantage you're dead and happy to be dead. " _DAVE_!" 

There's no answer. He's gone. 

And you scream again and throw yourself at Kurloz, because that's all you can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck I'm the one who wrote this and I'm still shaking in response to reading over it


	26. Chapter 26

You know what's coming heartbeats before Bro's sword slides in past your guard and between your ribs. That doesn't stop it from hurting so fucking much, more than anything that's ever happened to you. 

_Jesus fucking Christ—_

Karkat freezes as the feeling hits him. Fuck, no, he's going to get killed— _Speaker, if you hurt him you'll die slow—_

_**Says the motherfucker with a hole in his heart.**_ But Kurloz leaves Karkat, seizing Hal instead and flinging him brutally against the wall. The shikigami's going to need _serious_ maintenance after this shit's over, unless Kurloz is being a hell of a lot more—

Bro jerks the sword out, and you lose the thought and your breath in one red wash of pain. When it recedes—or you adjust to it, although you don't know how the hell you can adjust to something of this magnitude—you're on the floor, half-curled around the pain in your chest, wet heat soaking into your shirt even as your ability to feel it fades. 

Karkat's snarling, his desperation bleeding into your mind as you bleed out, and you try to make yourself heard by the Speaker again. 

_...keep him off me. Another minute._

_**Of course.**_

Fuck. 

This hurts. This _hurts._

Bro's leaning over you, you realize hazily. Face unreadable, shades gone missing, sword in hand but lowered—why would he need the sword? You're good as dead, just haven't stopped thinking yet. 

Your hearing's cut out, but you can read his lips. _Useless brat,_ he says, and maybe he says something else but you either close your eyes or lose that sense as well as sensation and sound. 

_Love you, 'kat,_ you think. You hope he hears. 

Dying hurts. 

Death is painless.

* * *

You hear him. Your Bro. You can't answer, but he's not really talking to you.

_What the FUCK are you doing, you little shit!?_

_**Now, I know the motherfucking boss told you the rules, First. Not our fault you couldn't be bothered to get your listen on.**_

_What the hell—_

_STOP IT!_

_I'll fucking kill you, you fuckin'—fucking DEMON—_

_**That supposed to be an insult?**_

_It hurts, it fucking hurts, it HURTS—_

_**Hey.**_

_**Second can't seem to tell you this shit, so I'll say it for him.**_

_**Dying always hurts. Especially when somebody deserves it as much as you do, motherfucker.**_

_Make it stop you FUCKER—_

_**Not for you I won't.**_

He starts _screaming,_ the sound and the echoes of his pain ripping through you, and you wonder if you can lose your mind when you're dead. Before you really have time to start worrying about it, purple light washes everything away. 

_**Come on back to the motherfucking living, Messiah.**_

* * *

You gasp in a breath. 

That hurts almost as much as dying did, and also starts you coughing so hard you can't get another one. Karkat and Kurloz are still fighting, you can hear the snarls, but somebody's cradling you. 

And making a variety of ungodly startled sounds. 

You force your eyes open and figure out that it's D. The look on his face—grief and amazement and confusion all rolled up into a new flavor of pain—makes you want to close them again. You never meant to hurt him like this.

Instead, you clutch at his shirt and try to get yourself upright enough that you have a chance at breathing. He gets what you're doing after only a second, hauling you up and supporting you as you try not to choke on the blood you're coughing up.

_Fuck, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die again, I'm going to fucking—Karkat, I need you, please, I need—_

He's not hearing you. 

_Shit. No._

_**Calm down.**_

Kurloz twists _towards_ Karkat's next lunge instead of away, his dreadlocks shifting, losing the sharp edges but not the prehensile nature as they lengthen and trap your demon like a fly in a spiderweb. Even as Karkat howls Kurloz slams him to the ground, dropping on top of him, pinning him there for a moment that's _too fucking long._

The blood that drips from the Speaker's ripped stitches seems purple in the light from his eyes. 

For a second, Karkat struggles. Then his eyes fill with liquid violet, his form shifts to human, and he goes limp. 

And then he turns his head to look at you, the purple drains out of his eyes like blood down a drain, and his pure fucking presence fills your mind _completely._

_Dave! Dave! Dave—_

You _force_ yourself to get one fucking breath in, just so you can use it on him. "Kar—Karkat—" 

Then you're coughing again, blood dripping out of your mouth and down your chin, but it doesn't fucking matter because he throws off Kurloz; before the Speaker to the Dead hits the floor and rolls easily to his feet again, he's got you. Karkat has you, arms wrapped around you, gripping tight enough to hurt even as his blood magic curls around your chest, easing the leftover pain and helping the blood left from your previously-punctured lung make its way out without choking you. He's got you. 

He's _got_ you. 

He's also bleeding where Kurloz's dreadlock-blades slashed him, more than one spot. As soon as your coughing eases enough that you can steady your hands, you reach out to very carefully touch what seems like one of the worst ones, a long cut across his upper arm. 

"What fuckin' part'a 'don't hurt him' do you not get, Kurloz?" Your voice is rough; talking hurts more than a little, and the Speaker doesn't have grace enough to do more than shrug, palms upraised in a _what do you want from me?_ stance. "Fucker." 

"I don't understand," Karkat whispers, wiping gently at your face. "Holy fucking _shit,_ I don't understand, I don't fucking understand—you fucking _died,_ Dave, I thought you died, you left me, I thought he fucking killed—" 

"He did fuckin' die," D breaks in shakily. "No question about it, I checked his goddamn pulse, there wasn't—" 

You wince as D's voice breaks on the last word, and reach over to grab at his shirt, pull him in close enough that you can get an arm around him and Karkat at the same time. Speaking of shirts, you want a clean one—the one you're wearing is soaking wet, with a hole right above the nice new scar over your heart. 

"I—" You get one word out, cough again, and switch to thinking at Karkat instead. _I did, I did die—it hurt, man, I know it hurt you, I'm sorry—_

He laughs at that despite the tears streaming down his face, still trying to get you clean. "It hurt _me_? What the fuck, Dave?" 

_I had to._

"Why?" 

_I—_ Shit. You're already forgetting; the knowledge Kurloz gave you has a fucking expiration date, apparently. He doesn't want you knowing everything about his damned cult for any longer than you need to. _Kurloz. Speaker._

_**Two Messiahs there are, one stolen from death and one from danger,**_ Kurloz sends as soon as you ask him for help. Karkat snarls softly, shifting to put himself between you and the Speaker, and D goes stiff at the voice in his head. _**Lost to each other and found by others, brought together by fate and design; one may continue and only one, to rule the world or end it. The lot of the victor shall be the fate of the vanquished, and death shall claim the one who little expects it.**_

"If you want the fu-fu-fucking cohe—coherent version—" holy _fuck_ you still can't breathe right— "if I stabbed him—" you nod at the unmoving corpse on the other side of D, careful not to look at it or even think about it too long, "he woulda gone down, and a couple mi-minutes later he wou—woulda got up, and I—" 

"Don't say it." Any other time, there'd be a bite to Karkat's words; now there's just pleading. "Don't fucking say it, I'm not thinking about that, I can't fucking—" 

"Shh." You've still got one arm slung over Karkat's neck; you use that to pull him in, pressing your lips against his. That leaves his almost cherry-red when you pull back, but he doesn't seem to care. _I'm alive. Lil' worse for wear, but I'm alive. I'm alive, and_ he's _not._

"You're alive," Karkat repeats, leaning his forehead against yours. 

"Thank fuckin' god," D mutters, shifting to wrap his arms around you and the demon both. "He gonna be okay, Karkat?" 

You've closed your eyes, but you can _feel_ the way Karkat bites gently at his lower lip, patterns like red clouds rolling across his eyes as he feels for your injuries. Not that you _have_ any injuries—just aftermath from them. 

"Blood in places it doesn't belong," he says finally. "Wait." 

_For you, I'd wait as long as you needed me to,_ you tell him, and get a wave of affection in response, along with the warm sensation of him sending magic down into your body to clean up the mess. "D." 

"Yeah." 

"Get Hal." 

"What—" Then D's eyes go to where the shikigami is, lying crumpled against the wall, motionless but for the small rhythm of his breathing, and he hisses in a startled gasp. "Shit—" 

"He's not dead, just—" You have to stop and cough, and Karkat sends you a wordless admonition to stay _still_ , dammit. Which you ignore for another second. "Check on him. Text Dirk for his reboot codes if you can't wake him up—" 

"Dave, stop _talking,_ " Karkat grumbles, shifting to pull you closer to him. 

"Listen to the healer, man. I got Hal." D nods and gets to his feet, ruffling your hair and letting his hand stay in contact with you for an extra second before he heads over to kneel next to the shikigami. 

_There. I'll keep my mouth shut for you, 'kat, shut up for once in my goddamn life, alright? Not like I've ever managed it before—_

"This doesn't count as you shutting up," he points out , shaking his head. _Not that I fucking care. If you want to talk until you pass out, I'll listen—you scared me so badly, do you know that?_

_Yeah. Felt it, before—well. Before._

_Kurloz wouldn't let me get to you—_

"Told him not to," you mumble, leaning your head against Karkat's shoulder. "He..." _...wasn't supposed to fuckin' hurt you, either. Asshole._

Karkat snorts at that assessment, wiping at your face again. You don't think he's going to be able to remove any significant amount of the blood there, but no way are you going to tell him that. If he's touching you, you're happy. "So you knew." 

"What was gonna happen to me?" _Yeah. I did. I've...gotten stronger, man, faster with a sword than before. I coulda killed him._

_And you didn't._

"No. He _expected_ me to slip up...so I did." _Let him take me down._ You can't help but shiver at the too-raw memory of his katana sliding into your body. The fucking surprised/gleeful look on his face as he realized he'd _won._

Karkat shudders too, and you realize that your mind's wrapped around his enough that he's picking up images almost perfectly. "I hope dying _hurt_ that fucker."

"It did," you tell him. You're very careful to keep the memory of Bro's psychic screams shielded from the demon. He'll know about that when it inevitably shows up in your nightmares, but right now you're not dropping it on top of his experience of _feeling_ you die in front of him. Later. He can know, later.

"Good." Karkat leans in to kiss you again, and you feel his magic withdraw even if his mind stays tangled up with yours around the edges. 

You kiss him back, pulling back after a moment. "...love you." 

" _Good_ ," he says again, with a grin, and thinks back, _Love you too._

"You see my sword anywhere? I wanna get outta this shithole." 

Karkat's face goes blank for a second as he scans the floor. Then he spots the weapon, leaning over to grab it even as you reluctantly scoot away from him. 

_**Leaving would definitely be a smart move,**_ Kurloz thinks at you, wiping blood away from his damaged mouth with one hand and offering the other to you. _**Motherfucking Messiah's got places to go and people to see, right?**_

"You're not wrong," you agree, and reach up to take his hand. 

You realize that that is, _again,_ a mistake as he holds his free hand out and one of those fucking white orbs drops neatly into it. There's barely time for you to reach over and twist your hand into Karkat's shirt before white-green lightning crackles out from the orb, snaking around all three of you and taking the bloody room around you away.


	27. Chapter 27

Whatever this method of traveling is, you fucking _hate_ it. For a second after Kurloz lets go of your hand, you can't see a thing but green and purple fire, the Speaker's magic fighting whatever that green shit is. 

Even before your vision clears you're grabbing for your backup blades. Yeah, Karkat's probably still got your sword, but you're not taking the time to take it from him; he can use it as well as you can, if he needs to. 

And he probably will. 

You blink again, and everything comes into focus. _Fuckin' finally._

Kurloz has already taken a few steps back, arms folding in front of himself. Maybe he's a threat, but you don't think so. Karkat agrees with you, obviously; the demon doesn't even glance at Kurloz, just moves to put his back against yours, scanning the room for threats. 

...as far as you can see, there aren't any. 

This _is_ maybe the fanciest fucking place you've ever been in, though. Like, it looks like a setup in a magazine, designed for the express purpose of showing the ideal for whatever the fuck kind of room this is supposed to be. You don't even have a definite name for what this place's fucking function is. Probably overwhelming idiots who get dropped in here—

"Dave, focus," Karkat murmurs. 

"I _am_ —there's just fuck-all to focus on, c'mon." _Other than that whatever asshole owns this place has a fuckin' fetish for green. And this place is annoying enough that I feel like seeing how much blood I can get on his nice neat wallpaper._

" _Don't_ put it like that." 

"Don't worry, babe, I'm not gonna bleed any more than I already have..."

"You _certainly_ won't." 

The new voice is smooth, cool, and faintly annoyed. Both you and Karkat spin to the left, weapons coming up to defend or attack, whichever you need to do first—

And Karkat makes a strangled noise and falls to his knees, confusion and fury rolling off him in waves. For an instant you're torn between asking him what the fuck's going on. Then your training kicks in, and you step in front of him, acting as a shield as you focus on the enemy. 

The enemy is...a guy. Just a guy, an old-ish seems-to-be-human. He doesn't have the familiar aura of a demon, and as far as you can tell there's nothing overtly threatening about him. Well, the fact that there doesn't seem to be any color in him, not in his skin or his short hair or even his fucking eyes creeps you out, but other than that there's nothing. 

The stupid green suit doesn't help either. Whoever told him that dressing to match his interior decorating theme oughta be shot. 

One white eyebrow goes up. "For someone destined to rule the world, you certainly are quite easily distracted by minutiae." 

"I'm not gonna rule the fucking world, dude." _Karkat?_

The demon whines behind you, and you catch a flare of almost-panic from him. He doesn't send any coherent thoughts, though, and neither does he move. 

"Well. I _suppose_ we can work with the path of destruction." The guy shrugs, nodding at Kurloz. "Although I must say that if that's your choice, Speaker to the Dead is slipping. He swore that the First would be the one with the violent tendencies. Pity." 

"What, you sorry I won the fight, Snowball?" You can sense magic between him and both the demons, like spider's silk or puppeteer's threads. More like the latter, really; Karkat wouldn't be kneeling if he had a choice, and when you spare a glance over your shoulder you see that Kurloz is in the exact same position, on his knees with resigned fury in his purple eyes. "Don't tell me you backed the wrong horse in this shitshow." 

"Hardly." He shakes his head, walking towards and past you, never coming within five feet of your blades as he steps over to a bookshelf and examines its contents. "If this is a race, it's _my_ race. I own all the horses, you might say." 

"You don't own me—" 

"Oh, David. I orchestrated almost every aspect of your life; of _course_ I own you. You're my creature, created specifically to fulfil that fool's prophecy—" a dismissive wave of his hand at Kurloz — "and you've done so amazingly. You're the first of the candidates to willingly sacrifice yourself _and_ have the Speaker bring you to me. You should be honored." 

"Somehow, I'm not. And if you call me David again, I'm gonna see if your blood's as white as the rest of you." 

"I don't doubt your determination. Your ability, however?" The man turns to face you, giving you an oddly stiff smile. Like he only has the faintest idea of what the expression's supposed to look like. "The Messiah can't harm me, David." 

Okay, enough of this shit. He's fucking _daring_ you to hurt him now, and who are you to turn down a good dare? 

You lunge for him, leading with your right hand and the shorter knife there. He'll dodge and you know that, if nothing else he'll try to step back out of range, but you're ready to correct for any way he can move. Not like he can go far when he's put himself in a fucking corner—

He doesn't even _try_ to move. 

But you somehow miss him. 

_What the fuck?_

It's like space warps around this asshole. You're perfectly on target—your knife oughta take him right in the throat, but instead it slips to one side, avoids him like the weapon and his body carry matching magnetic charges.

_What the fucking hell?_

He's right. 

You can't touch him. 

When you come to that conclusion, you force yourself to stop attacking, to fall back next to Karkat again. "What the hell are you?" 

One corner of his mouth twitches upwards in a motion that would come across as natural on anyone else and seems fake as hell on him. "The operative question is 'who,' not 'what,' David." 

"The operative question is whatever the hell I wanna ask, fucker, and _what_ seems to be pretty fucking important since there's no fucking way you're human—" 

"My dear boy, whereever did you get the idea that I was _human_?" Another calculated smile. "Humans don't generally have this level of dominion over demons." And a gesture towards Karkat and Kurloz. 

_Shit._ "Answer my fucking question and let him go." 

"The latter would be quite unwise for me, now wouldn't it? I don't have the same level of invulnerablity from the children of elements as I do from you, after all." He shrugs and reaches for a book, sliding it out from its place and opening it rather than look at you. "You've asked several questions, none of which are coherent or specific enough to deserve an answer. However, I suppose a working relationship _does_ require that you know some iteration of my name." 

"We don't _have_ a working relationship, asshole." 

_Dave, careful..._ Karkat thinks at you. 

"Oh, but we most certainly do." There's no warmth behind the smile he gives you. It might as well be painted on. "The term _messiah_ implies a god behind it, and while I don't quite qualify for that title yet, I'm sure you and I can change that." 

You're in so far over your head here. "Pretty fucking bold assumption. That I'm gonna work with you."

" _For_ me, David. You work _for_ me." He sets the book back in place on the shelf, stepping towards you. 

You can't retreat, not unless you plan on abandoning Karkat, so you stand your ground and move your blades up to defend.

"You're quite stubborn." Again, he seems to repulse your weapons; you can't stop him from reaching past them, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look into those damned colorless eyes. "A shame, really. On anyone else it might be an asset, but in you it's simply an annoyance." 

His grip's strong, but nowhere near as bruisingly tight as Bro's would be; you don't have any problem twisting out of it. "Hey, if you thought I was gonna be a nice sweet pet, you got another think coming." 

"More of a tool than a pet." He shrugs again, tilting his head slightly. "Again, I must say that you're easily distracted from the matter at hand." 

"Fuck you." 

"I don't believe I deserve that, David." 

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, asshole." 

That just earns you a neutral stare, a couple seconds of silence, and Karkat mentally scolding you for being a fucking combative idiot. 

"My name," the guy says finally, "is Scratch. Well. It really _isn't,_ but your guardian seemed to think it fit me quite well, and for the sake of this discussion, Doctor Scratch is a perfectly reasonable way to address me." 

"We're not having any kind of _discussion_ until you take your freaky mind shit off Karkat." 

"As I said before, releasing the demons is inadvisable. I don't intend to allow myself to be killed this close to my own endgame." Scratch smiles again. "And the blood demon provides a very valuable bargaining chip, doesn't he? I must say that I never expected you to be the one to provide the very leverage I required to control you." 

"What—" No. You don't need to ask him what he means; you _know._

You'd do anything to protect Karkat. Even though he's almost shouting in your head, trying to tell you not to go along with whatever Scratch wants, you know that if the alternative is letting him be hurt, there really isn't any alternative at all. 

Fuck. 

And Scratch must see your thinking in your face, because he nods and laughs. "There we are. You're much more intelligent than your guardian ever gave you credit for, David—we both know there's only one way this can go. Perhaps you attempt to injure me a few more times—you're human, after all; persistence is one of your more amusing traits—perhaps you force me to cause your lover enough pain for you to give up and cooperate, perhaps you put aside this ridiculous stubbornness. But in the end, you'll ally yourself with me. You don't have a choice." 

"I'll—"

"Yes, yes. You'll kill me, I quite understand. Except you can't." 

_**The Messiah's gotta make his own motherfucking choice, Scratch. Nothing you can gain by pressing the issue.**_

" _Quiet,_ Kurloz," Scratch says sharply, and the Speaker makes maybe the third noise you've heard out of him—a soft, muffled sound of pain. 

You instinctively turn to look at him. 

Kurloz hasn't moved at all; he's still there on his knees. All that's changed is that there's now a trickle of blood from his nose in addition to the bleeding from his ripped stitches, and his eyes are pure violet now, nothing but bright purple voids in his face. 

You know you shouldn't look into those eyes. 

You can't fucking help it. 

_**Took you long enough, motherfucker,**_ Kurloz thinks at you as soon as you meet his eyes, and then he rips your mind from your body with a sensation that you've felt maybe hundreds of times before. After all, this is something you've done yourself, isn't it? 

Kurloz is the one who forces you into it, but you're still the one who flips places with Karkat. And as soon as you open your eyes ( _the demon's eyes_ ) you know the answer to this fucking riddle. 

You can attack Scratch, but you can't hurt him. Karkat could hurt him, but can't attack him. 

The two of you together? The two of you, wound into one mind in two bodies? 

That changes the fucking game entirely. 

Everything moves very, very fast. 

You hit the floor and Karkat rolls up to his feet, sword coming up and ready—except from your point of view _you're_ the one who rises, you're the one who lunges past the demon who's in your body while you're in his. The blade passes over his head as he ducks, with maybe two inches to spare—too close for comfort, any other time, but right now it might as well be five fucking feet. 

Right now, it's as likely that you'd hurt him as it is that you'd slip and cut off one of your own limbs. He _is_ you, you're him, and there's no way to know which of you is the force behind the swing of the sword that cleanly decapitates Scratch. 

And "clean" is the accurate word. 

There's no blood. 

Reality seems to slip sideways, and instead of a severed head falling to the floor, it's an orb exactly like the ones that lit the building you just left, like the one Kurloz used to bring you here, but for the size. It's smooth and white, completely without markings, maybe a foot in diameter. 

Time fucking _stops_ as it falls.

The orb doesn't shatter when it hits the black-and-white checkered floor. 

It _explodes._

You think you flip back with Karkat, back into your own body. Unconsciousness comes too fucking fast for you to tell for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: I'm pretty sure "Old Scratch" was a term for the devil.


	28. Chapter 28

A phone's ringing, and someone's nudging your shoulder. 

Those two events might be connected. 

You're going to keep your eyes shut and ignore them both. 

_**Like fuck you are. Quit trying to play dead, motherfucker; it's not like I can answer your phone.**_

Okay, so apparently you're not allowed to ignore them. You open your eyes, see Kurloz leaning over you, and immediately close them again. "Jesus _Christ,_ dude." 

_**Don't act like you weren't expecting me.**_

"Look, you're not exactly the best fucking thing for a guy to see right when he wakes up. Can you fuckin' blame me?" 

_**Yes.**_

"...fuck off." 

He pushes something into your hand. Your phone, you're pretty sure. _**Deal with your kin.**_

"My—shit. D." Now, _that_ gets you to sit up and fumble with the phone for a second, glancing at Kurloz as you hit the _Accept Call_ button. "Where the fuck is this place, anyway?" 

_**Pocket dimension. Scratch claimed it and started building his mansion here sometime before humans figured out how to get a handle on fire.**_

"Well, fuck. Wonder if I'm gonna get charged for a long-distance call."

Kurloz just shrugs and sits back on his heels, one hand coming up to feel at where Karkat ripped his stitches out as D starts talking in your ear. Or at least as the call connects and you hear what he's saying.

" _—fucking pick up, fuck, Dave—fuckin' say something, kiddo, if you're there and not fucking dead you need to—_ " 

"Yo, D." 

" _Oh thank god._ " He lets out a relieved breath, and you hear something thump on his end. Sounds like he just slammed his hand against the hood of the truck. " _What was with that last call, man? Are you okay? Is Karkat still with you? What the hell's going on? Is—_ " 

"Dude, stop for a second—I just woke up, I can't keep track of this shit." Fuck. Karkat. You almost panic before you glance the right way and see him sprawled on the floor a couple feet from you, apparently unconscious. He's breathing, anyway, and you can feel his presence in your mind, so you're going to assume he's okay. Hopefully. 

" _The fuck do you mean, you just woke up—_ " 

"D." 

" _Yeah?_ " 

"Either calm the fuck down or hand Dirk the goddamn phone." 

" _Dirk's running diagnostics on Hal right now; you're stuck with me. And I'm not calming down until you answer my fucking questions!_ " 

Okay, that's fair. What were his questions again? 

"Uh. Okay, Karkat's here but he's still out—I woke up before him for once, maybe 'cause Kurloz decided I was the one who needed to take this fucking call—" 

_**He was asking for you, not Vantas. Seemed to be under the impression he was talking to you when I tried to answer that motherfucker.**_

"If you were on the phone with him, why the fuck did you wake me up?" 

Kurloz just gives you an exasperated look and motions at his stitched mouth.

"...oh." 

" _Dave, what the fuck's going on?_ " 

"You seem to think I have a fuckin' answer to that—" 

_**You and Vantas killed a demigod.**_

"Uh, Kurloz says we killed a demigod." 

There's a good thirty seconds of silence. 

Then, " _What the_ fuck?"

"Yeah." 

" _Are you okay?_ " 

"As far as I can tell? I'm fine. Karkat's unconscious." You scoot over closer to the demon, putting one hand on his chest and letting your mind half-merge with his. He doesn't _feel_ like he's been hurt. "I'm...pretty sure he'll be okay. I have no fucking clue where my sword went..." 

_**Mortal weapons weren't meant to kill something like Scratch. It's motherfucking gone, kiddo.**_

"Damn. I _liked_ that sword."

" _I know some bladesmiths; we can go get you a new sword to make up for this shitty-ass birthday...where are you, anyway?_ " 

What did Kurloz say? Oh, yeah. "Pocket dimension."

" _...and you get cell service there._ " 

"Again, do you _really_ think I know what's going on—" 

Karkat groans, his eyes half-opening. 

"Whoops, hang on, D—consider yourself on hold for a minute." 

" _Hey, wait—_ " 

Before he can finish protesting, you hand the phone off to Kurloz (ignoring the look he gives you) and lean over Karkat, offering him a smile as his eyes focus on you. "Hey, man." 

"...hey." The smile you get back is more confused than anything, but you can feel the demon's rising worry drain away as you pull him up to lean on you. "Two questions." 

"Hit me with 'em." 

Karkat purrs as you wrap an arm around his shoulders. "Mmm. Are you okay?" 

"Definitely. Need a new set of clothes. My sword's gone." 

"The one you killed that basilisk with?" 

"Yep." 

"Well, fuck." He growls softly, shaking his head. "That's going to be fun to replace." 

"Eh. It was worth it, I think." 

"Oh?" He looks over at you, eyebrows raising a little. "Anyway. Question number two. What the _fuck_ did we just do, Dave?" 

"Kurloz says we killed a demigod." 

"That bastard Scratch is a demigod?" 

"I mean, he _was_ , but yeah. You don't remember killing him?" 

Karkat hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. "No. You flipped us, tangled us up until I couldn't tell myself from you. That's all I remember." 

"Huh. Weird." 

_**Not really. Demons were never meant to stand against that motherfucker; you rode him, used him as a tool, and only you keep the memory. Safer for him that way.**_ Kurloz holds out the phone again. _**Take this thing.**_

Karkat eyes him for a moment. "Why the fuck are you still here again?" 

_**I'm your ride home. The travel orbs won't bond with the new owner for a couple days at least. Take the phone.**_

"Wait, new _owner_?" you ask. 

The Speaker huffs out a breath through his nose, eyes flaring brighter with irritation. _**Passage of ownership.**_

You can feel Karkat's understanding and surprise as he processes that. "Alright, one of y'all explain what that means." 

"It's a magic thing," Karkat says slowly. "You know how some powers pass down through family lines? Yeah, well, this is another setup for that shit—it's more for items owned, property, than it is for powers themselves. Almost nobody uses this setup anymore, because ownership only passes to whoever kills the last fucking owner. Gives everybody an excuse to try to kill whoever holds the current title." 

"So...we own this fucking mansion?" 

_**Precisely. And you're pretty fucking safe from any other motherfuckers who want to own it, mostly because nobody still knows it exists.**_ Kurloz's mouth twists into a tiny smile. _**Well. Other than me.**_

"You planning on killing us, going after ownership of this place?" you ask him.

He shakes his head. _**Not unless you don't take your motherfucking phone back.**_

Karkat laughs as you roll your eyes and take the phone out of the Speaker's hand.

* * *

It takes ten minutes before you can calm D down enough for him to let you hang up so Kurloz can take you back. You go with one of the white cueball things in your pocket; the Speaker says you need to keep it on or near you for the next week or so. 

Lightning and fire obscures your vision just like last time, but this time it's white where it was green. Before it even fades away, D more-or-less tackles you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet. 

"Holy fucking shit, Dave—" 

"D, you're gonna get blood on you—" 

"Ask me if I _care_ —" 

Okay, fair enough. You quit worrying about that, for the moment at least, instead hugging him back and letting yourself grin. Opening your mind to Karkat so he can feel his fucking relieved you are to come back to your family—how happy you are right now—is almost automatic. 

"You're going to smother him, D," Dirk points out. As soon as D lets you go, though, Dirk's grabbing you and pulling you into a hug of his own, just a little more gentle than D's. "You leave me outside again when shit's going down," he whispers in your ear, "I'm going to _kill_ you, you know that?" 

"I know, man, I know." And you do—you can feel Dirk's stress finally draining, as he pulls away. Even if he didn't have to see you die, he still had to handle not knowing what was happening, and he's sensitive enough to know when magic as major as raising the dead and teleportation's happening near him. "Is Hal okay?" 

"Right here." The shikigami taps your shoulder, grinning at you when you pull back from Dirk. There's a bruise across his left temple, but he looks fine otherwise. "You're going to have to give me a play-by-play of what I missed, you know." 

"Definitely." 

As you step back and slip an arm around Karkat's waist, D asks, "Y'all ready to go home?" 

Dirk and Hal nod, and you and Karkat answer in unison.

"Hell fucking yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be 3k words. This was meant to be a oneshot. This is the longest thing I've ever written. Thank you so much to everyone who commented and made suggestions; if you hadn't done that this _would_ have been a oneshot! If you have suggestions or requests for extra chapters, feel free to tell me in a comment or shoot me an ask at [my Tumblr](https://knight-of-heart-and-art.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Dave Strider: empath
> 
> Karkat Vantas: demon; healing powers
> 
> Kankri Vantas: angel; seer, mental healing powers
> 
> Bro Strider: no notable powers
> 
> Dirk Strider: artificer/technomancer, roboticist
> 
> Rose Lalonde: witch/seer
> 
> Jake English: diviner
> 
> John Egbert: research specialist
> 
> Hal Strider: shikigami/AI, tech specialist
> 
> Roxy Lalonde: resident tattoo artist (channels and stores magic through her own tattoos)
> 
> Kanaya Maryam: vampire
> 
> Vriska Serket: spider demon, crossroads demon
> 
> Terezi Pyrope: Balancekeeper (magically abled judge)
> 
> D: no real magical talents but one of the best fighters alive
> 
> Jade Harley: shapeshifter (dog form)
> 
> Kurloz Makara: demon; Speaker to the Dead, mind control powers, telepathy


End file.
